The Day in Crystal
by wryter501
Summary: I opened my eyes to see a tangle of blue-lit crystal. The future was beautiful, and it was terrible, and I could not allow it to come to pass, not like that. I knew what would happen, and I knew where to be. I knew what not to do. If this was my second chance, I was determined that Arthur would have one as well. A new direction for ep.5.13 "The Diamond of the Day".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is written as a follow-up to my story "Royally Disired" but can be read on its own, I think. I know this idea has been done just about to death (pun intended), but I needed to write it, so bear with me. Like Royally Disired, this will be canon (mostly)… until it's not.**

**The Day in Crystal**

I could blame it on the ale. I could blame it on the mead. I'd had both tonight, and probably too much of either. This was why I didn't drink – it made me hilariously reckless. Doing magic right to Arthur's face, while he was watching me closely to discover if I was cheating, for no better reason than to win a game of chance.

It was the stress, maybe. The six months given me by the Disir were up within the week, and I still had not found or made an opportunity to fulfill my bargain.

Maybe part of me hoped that Arthur would see, would comprehend. It filled me with panic, the thought that Arthur would find out. It filled me with absolute relief, the thought that Arthur would discover my magic on his own, call me out, demand an explanation.

I opened my mouth and said to him, "I knew you'd discover my secret in the end. There is just no fooling you, my lord." Arthur only rolled his eyes and took the teasing of the tavern crowd with poor grace.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

There was nothing like almost smothering to death to sober a man up in a hurry. And wake him up, too. "What happened?" I said to Gaius. I was lying in my bed in my room, looking up into my mentor's worried face. I could remember not being able to breathe, something moving, something wriggling on my face. "What was that thing?"

Gaius seated himself by the bed. "Morgana's work, that's for sure," he said. "Mordred would have told her of your powers by now, Merlin. It was only a matter of time. We can only be grateful that she failed."

Morgana. And Mordred. Another reason I'd been in the tavern. Another problem I had not been able to find or manufacture a solution for. The Disir had told me that the duid's boy's life, fate, and time were not in my hands, that each made his own choices. Mordred's choice had been to betray Arthur for Morgana. Just as I'd known he would do.

Was there really no getting around destiny? What use were prophecies if the future was set in stone?

A matter of time. I would have to fulfill my bargain. I would go to Arthur in the morning. I would not fail.

I reached for my cup of water on the cupboard beside the bed, and found I was too tired to stretch the extra few inches to reach it. "_Strangath_," I said, to call the cup to my hand. It didn't move. It didn't so much as twitch. "_Strangath_," I tried again, with no result. "_Strangath_!" I ordered, feeling panic rise. "Gaius!" As he turned to me, I realized the truth. The creature who had attacked had not meant to kill. My time was up; my punishment meted out. "I don't think she failed."

"Whatever do you mean?" Gaius said.

"I've lost my magic," I said.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

I stood useless as a statue in the council chamber, listening to the discussion of Morgana's attack and intentions.

Leon said, "We have sufficient time to prepare our defenses, sire."

Oh, hells. There was no time. There was no defense, not against Morgana. I heard Arthur making other plans, not to defend Camelot, but to attack Morgana's army before it reached our lands and our people. The chamber cleared, leaving Arthur's handful of trusted knights to finalize the plans. I didn't move. I couldn't move. And it didn't matter.

I watched them consult the map, listening to Arthur choose the ground. It wasn't a surprise to hear him say, "Then it is at Camlann that we make our stand." But it was a shock. It seemed Arthur's time was up as well.

He'd kept his word. There had been no persecution of druids or other magic folk, though magic was nowhere practiced openly. The one trial of a druid had been of Mordred's friend Cara – but that had been for attempted murder on the king, not magic. There had even been talk of going over the old laws, Geoffrey had brought copies to Arthur's chamber for the king to study. But nothing had _changed_. I knew it would be no use to return to the grove at Breneved, but _Camlann_ – I wished never to go there, either.

"I hoped never to hear that name again," I said to Gaius, back in the physician's chamber.

"He cannot go, Merlin," Gaius said to me. "You will have to persuade him."

"I know Arthur better than I know myself," I said. "He'll not listen." Bitterly I thought, if he knew my magic, my power, he might listen. Or he might banish me from the kingdom.

"If Arthur goes to Camlann the prophecy will come true and he will die," Gaius said.

"This battle is the only way he knows how to save his people," I said. "If he's going to lose his life, he'll still go."

"Then what are we to do?" Usually this was a question I posed to Gaius. It felt odd to hear it from him.

"If I can't prevent him from going, then I must protect him the best I can," I said.

"But you can't protect him without your magic," Gaius protested.

I smiled for the first time in days. "Then I must regain my magic." An idea had begun to form. Not to Breneved, not to Camlann, but I had a good idea of where I could go.

"I can't restore it," Gaius reminded me gently. "It is beyond my power."

I touched his shoulder to let him know it was all right. "I know. Perhaps it's beyond anyone's power. No, if there's an answer, I must seek it elsewhere."

"But where?" Gaius said.

"The birthplace of magic itself," I told him. "The Crystal Cave."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"I think you'll find that's everything, sire," I said. We both looked over the table in Arthur's chamber, where all his equipment was spread out – armor, weaponry, everything he would need. Well, not everything, but I couldn't tell him that. I should have already told him that.

"Impressive," Arthur said, his arms crossed over his chest. "Very impressive. I've never seen work like it – well, not from you, anyway."

"Thank you, sire." I'd take a back-handed compliment from him any day. Especially today.

"So what are you after?" he said, crossing the room to his desk.

"After?" I asked.

"Come on, Merlin. You're the worst servant in the history of the world. Now suddenly this. Is it money?"

"No," I said, smiling to myself.

"No, it can't be that. You've already won all of mine." He retrieved a scroll from his desk, turned to face me again, though I couldn't quite face him. "Time off?" he said.

_Yes, please. A day or so to retrieve my magic, and then we can ride to face your sister and her army_. "Arthur," I began.

"No, it can't be that either," he teased me, "you don't really _do_ anything."

_Oh, if you only knew_. But he didn't, because I never said anything. "I just wanted to make sure you had all you needed for your journey to Camlann, for the days ahead," I said.

"Thank you," he said, then looked up from the scroll. "Merlin, what do you mean, my journey?"

"I'm afraid I won't be coming with you." I turned to face him. As much as it hurt, I deserved to see his face as I let him down, as he realized what I was saying. "Not this time. I'm sorry." I hated to see that look in his eyes, so I took refuge babbling the lie that Gaius and I had agreed on. "I have an urgent errand to run for Gaius. Vital supplies that I can't obtain here." That part was true. Ye gods, how vital.

"Vital supplies?" There was an edge of disbelief in his tone.

"Yes," I said. "It's not that I'm –"

"No, no," he said quickly, as if he didn't want to hear any more. "It's fine, I understand."

_No, you don't, how could you?_ "Arthur –" I said, and in my mind I released the secret – I have magic, I'm a sorcerer, I've protected you for years with my magic. Don't be ridiculous, he would say. Why would you say such a thing? He wouldn't believe me, not without proof. Proof which I was no longer capable of producing.

"You know, Merlin," he said, that funny look of twisted disappointment on his face, "all those jokes about you being a coward… I never really meant any of them. I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met." My heart soared for a brief moment, until he added, "Guess I was wrong."

I guess he was right. The lies had formed a tangled web, spoken for all the right reasons – for his basic protection, for my continued safety to ensure his protection, to stop the wrong questions being asked so my presence in Camelot continued in order to ensure his protection… my confession should cut across the web like a knife, one quick slice.

I said nothing.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine and I approached the entrance to the Crystal Cave, an unprepossessing hole in a hillside. Gwaine moved in a battle-ready crouch, his sword drawn, as if he expected enemies to come pouring out of the hole. Knowing better, I passed him. "I can make my own way from here," I said. I was so thankful he had come with me this far, but the draw of the cave was strong and I was impatient to get back to Arthur. If it was even going to be possible.

Behind me Gwaine said, as if he hadn't heard me properly, "Sorry?"

I didn't turn. "You needn't come any further. I'll be fine."

"How will you get back to Camelot?" Gwaine said reasonably. "There are bandits everywhere."

"Once I have what I'm looking for, I'll be perfectly safe, I promise you." I would look til I found it. The alternative didn't bear contemplation.

I heard him take a step toward me. "What are you looking for?" he said.

"I can't tell you that, Gwaine." I turned. I was supposed to have told Arthur. Maybe it made no difference now to tell Gwaine, but… Arthur deserved to hear it from me, and to hear it first. Only I had no idea if it would ever come to that, anymore. "You'll just have to trust me." Gwaine nodded slightly, still unsure. "You should get going," I told him. "Arthur will need you by his side."

"Look after yourself, Merlin," Gwaine said seriously. He didn't say, what about you? Why aren't you at his side? Instead he gave his sword a little toss to catch it by the blade and offer the hilt to me. "You know to use the sharp end, right?"

I couldn't help chuckling. "Oh. Yeah."

Gwaine grinned, then reached to clasp my forearm. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

_ Me, too, Gwaine. Me, too._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

There was nothing. There was darkness and pain. And I deserved them. Because there was also failure.

It occurred to me, as I crouched there, choking on the dust of Morgana's rockfall and my despair, that it might have been six months this very day since I had followed Arthur from another cave. It might have been. I did not know what day it was – they had all run together since Morgana had left the gean canach for me to find.

There was something, though. There was a blue light. I scrambled toward it over the rocks and dirt – into a cavern sprinkled with crystals. I took two steps and collapsed.

"Merlin," someone whispered. Someone familiar, someone loved.

I opened my eyes to see a tangle of blue-lit crystals. "Father?" I mumbled, turning my head to see who had spoken.

There he stood, clean of woodsmoke and sweat and blood. "My son," he said with compassion and sympathy, neither of which I deserved.

"Are you here?" I said. "Are you real?"

"Dead or alive, real or imagined, past or present…" My father shook his head. "These things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your father who loves you. Do not let go, Merlin." A bit of steel entered his words and his look. "Do not give in."

"I have no reason to go on," I told him. "The battle is already over. Morgana has won."

"Only if you accept defeat," he disagreed. "But if you fight, if you let hope into your heart, Morgana cannot be victorious."

I wanted to believe him. But – "What hope is there without my magic?" I said.

He crouched down next to me, close enough to touch if I lifted my hand. "Merlin, you are more than a son of your father," he said. "You are a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot lose what you are."

I didn't understand. "But how do I find myself again?" I asked.

"Believe, Merlin," he said, soothingly, encouragingly. "Believe what your heart knows to be true. That you have always been, and always will be."

"Always will be," I repeated. No, still beyond my comprehension.

"Rest now," my father said, instead of explaining. "Rest, my son. And soon," I closed my eyes as he was still speaking, "you shall awaken into the light."

Some time later, I opened my eyes and sat up, letting out a groan, remembering. But something was different, something had changed. I touched my face, but felt no blood. I looked around – but there was no fear like I'd felt before, when Taliesin brought me into this cave. I looked at each crystal as an individual thing, each with a heart and soul, a personality of its own, and an idea blossomed in my mind, a feeling, an instinct.

I looked down at my hands and rubbed my fingertips together to warm them briefly, then clasped them together, making a small hollow between my palms. I whispered, "_Gweyrc an lif_."

I could hear it fluttering, the tiny life that had been created, I could feel it brushing so softly against the inside of my hands. I opened them to release a butterfuly whose wings bore the blue-green shade of the crystals.

I leaped up, turning in a circle – hope, joy, forgiveness – but I had no time for that. It wasn't for myself that I wanted the magic back, a second chance. I searched the crystals with determination, it was in the one to my right… no. Which one? Four, or five to the left…no, not that one. I turned to a crystal over my left shoulder and reached out to command it.

Fire swirled in its depths, and I stepped closer.

_ Kilgarrah breathes fire on the serkets. Wrapped in Morgause's chains, my body rises. Morgana's hand grips the dagger high, ready to plunge down. Arthur's face submerged below the waters of Avalon as he is offered to the sidhe. A dorocha shrieks._

I gasped, wincing like my palm had been burned by the series of visions, and stepped back, wiping my hand down my jacket.

No, it was something I must do. I gazed deliberately into the crystal again.

_ The trinket of Avalon water from the Fisher King. Arthur's sword rising from the water. Mordred in black, not the red of Camelot he'd forsaken, riding at the head of an army._

I bent my head closer, concentrating.

_ Kilgarrah roaring fire. A sword is lain on a knight's pyre. I gasp as the dragon imparts the healing spell for Morgana's head injury. Saxon boots march a path in the dark._

"Arthur, where are you?" I said aloud.

_ A white dragon swoops down to the battlefield breathing fire. I lie in bed pale and clammy with poison. Morgause lifts an ax. The phoenix-eye cuff falls. Arthur opens a door on a blaze of sunrise glory. Red-cloaked knights gallop through Camelot's gates. Arthur's face submerged below the waters of Avalon as he is offered to the sidhe. Frozen before a unicorn. Rider and horse crash through a stained glass window. There the white peaked tents in rows, Camelot's army. Arthur sleeps with one arm around Gwen, cuddled at his side._

"Arthur," I said. It worked. I leaned closer to speak softly, as if we might be overheard, somehow. "Arthur, I'm sorry I had to leave you. I didn't want to. I hope one day you'll understand why." _I'm a sorcerer. I have magic – had magic – have it again_. If I said it now, he wouldn't believe the rest of my words, my warning. So I went on, "Your plan is a good one and you may yet save this kingdom, but you must beware. Your army's flank is vulnerable. There's an old path over the ridge at Camlann. Morgana knows of it. She means to trap you, Arthur. Find the path or the battle will be over before it's begun. Find the path."

I searched deliberately into the future to see the result of my message.

**A/N: FYI, I don't personally believe Merlin is to blame for any of these events, in "The Disir" or in this episode. However, I do think Merlin blames himself, which is why the feelings of guilt and failure are fairly strong for him in this story…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_**I know**_**. But bear with me, I intend to make it all right.**

**The Day in Crystal**

_ Arthur's eyes open, a faint puzzled look on his face. He lifts his head from the pillow, and that's enough to alert Gwen. "What's the matter?" she says, with a worried look._

_ "Merlin," Arthur says. _

_Gwen tries to soothe him, rubbing his chest. "It was a dream, Arthur," she tells him. "Only a dream."_

_Arthur shakes his head. "It didn't feel like a dream. It felt…" He breaks off, tossing the blankets to the side. _

"_Arthur!" Gwen tries again, but he doesn't listen._

_Throwing a robe over his night-clothes, he emerges from the tent to meet Leon – fully dressed for battle in chainmail and red cloak. "Sire," Leon says. "The scouts report that Morgana's army is on the move."_

"_She'll attack before the night's done," Arthur says, turning away from Leon purposefully, adding over his shoulder, "Tell the men to prepare."_

"_Yes, sire!" Leon says._

"_Percival, Gwaine!" Arthur calls, and they turn from the entrance to their own tent, also fully geared for battle. "Take a patrol of men to the rear of us," Arthur commands, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "You're looking for a hidden path running into the mountains." He turns to point as the knights come up to either side of him. "She means to outflank us. We must stop her now." Percival and Gwaine hurried the way he'd pointed…_

_Black clouds drift over a full moon. Gwaine and Percival at the head of a mail-clad contingent creep forward in the darkness. Percival gestures with his sword up the right flank.._

_Arthur stands in full armor before the rest of Camelot's army. "Tonight, we do battle," he declares. "Tonight, we end this war. We end a war as old as the land itself. A war against tyranny and greed and spite." In the front ranks, Leon looks grim in the flickering torchlight. "Not all will greet the dawn," Arthur continues. "Some will live. Some will die. But each and every one of you fights with honor and with pride. For not only do we fight for our lives, we fight for the future – Camelot – Albion – the united kingdoms." He calls his customary battle cry, "For the love of Camelot!"_

_Torches blaze. Two armies face each other in a narrow passage between high cliffs. Arthur stands at the head of one, stern and resolute. Morgana looks down from a niche in the hillside. Arthur draws his dragon blade._

"_On me!" the king commands._

_The knights, Sir Leon, all leap forward to clash with the enemy, mixing three, five, ten deep…_

_Percival bellows, "On me!" and leads a forest of raised silver blades against the Saxons threatening the rear. The clamor and clang of battle sounds. _

_Arthur leaps to thrust his blade downward into a falling foe. He throws two punches with his left hand and advances._

_He blocks a blow, slashes the enemy across his midsection. No one can slow his momentum, no one can stop him. He ducks a charge, tossing the Saxon bodily over his shoulder. He dances around the next man to slash him across the back of the neck – and blood sprays. He ducks, lifting his knee to deliver a bow, then leaps up to kick his assailant in the chest. He turns to slash at someone else attacking his back. He advances…_

_Mogana watches, glancing down where Mordred fights. He throws an occasional blow but avoids most conflict. He is searching, saving his strength. Morgana smiles, pleased and eager. Mordred grunts, knocking an opponent aside. He finds himself surrounded suddenly by warriors in Camelot red. Morgana's eyes flash gold as she lifts her chin, and the knights are sent flying. Mordred looks up and she nods to him. He continues his search…_

_Rocks fly outward from a greener, lighter hillside, in a cloud of dust. I stride out, disguised as my eighty-year-old self, complete with red robe and white staff._

_I ride through the forest, galloping…_

_In the tent where the wounded have been taken, Gwen calls, "Bandages!" Gaius looks up briefly from his patient. "I need bandages!" she repeats. She hurries through the tent, finding the tray of rolled bandages on a table, just as two fighters fall through the tent flap, grunting and roaring. The Saxon wounds the knight, who falls back, and raises an ax – only to fall with a cry of agony himself as Gwen attacks from behind…_

_Arthur throws another enemy down, plunges in his sword for a killing blow. A screech sounds above the battle noise, and Arthur looks up. The white dragon swoops down, and the knights duck as the dragon spits fireballs…_

_Leon fights. Arthur slashes thrice with his sword before knocking his enemy aside with a forearm to his throat. He ducks another charge, slicing across the man's back. He turns to the left to meet another, and kicks him back before delivering another cut across his middle._

_A dozen enemies charge. Arthur catches his breath, bends down to the side to try a sweeping blow to keep them all back at once – his sword never touches them. Light flashes and four are thrown off their feet. Lightning crackles – from the hilltop, and not the sky – and half a dozen behind Arthur go flying. He looks for the source of this inexplicable power –_

_He sees me. I raise my staff and more lightning strikes the enemy._

_Morgana shrieks, "Emrys!" Another bolt of lightning throws her down from the cliff._

_Twice more lightning strikes the Saxons, before Aithusa screeches down. I bellow out, "Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai! Weas!" The white dragon pauses, backing air, then flaps away from the battlefield._

_Arthur stares a moment, then shouts, "For the love of Camelot!" He spins his sword at his side and leads the troops further into the pass. I throw another lightning bolt._

_From the doorway of the medical tent, Gwen asks, "Who is that?"_

"_Someone truly remarkable," Gaius answers._

"_You know him?" Gwen questions._

_Gaius glances at her, wearing one of the proudest smiles he's ever worn. "Let's just say he deserves our gratitude." Gaius turns back to the wounded, Gwen watches a second more until I disappear from the edge of the cliff…_

_I walk the gap, looking at the bodies – so many draped in red cloaks, illuminated by dropped torches and small fires started by the dragon…_

_Arthur still fights, throwing someone off, kicking, plunging his blade with a shout. _

_A wounded man raises a hand and Arthur hurries to help, reaches the man in time to feel the last breath leave his lungs. Behind Arthur, a figure approaches, the softest whisper of metal sounds. By Arthur's face, he senses this and turns ready to block a beheading blow. He draws back – recognizes Mordred – and stops._

_Mordred does not. He buries his blade in Arthur's chest. Arthur flinches as the blade is withdrawn, and falls to one knee._

_Mordred says softly, "You gave me no choice."_

_Arthur leaps up, driving his own sword through the druid boy, his hand on Mordred's chest to steady himself, then twists and thrusts again before withdrawing his blade. Mordred gives Arthur a wide, incomprehensible smile, then slides sideways to the ground._

_Arthur looks down, begins to walk away, one hand pressed to his left side. He takes three steps, then falls…_

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_Leon swoops into the medical tent, out of breath. "My lady," he manages to gasp. Gwen turns from where she is bent over a wounded man on the ground. "The battle is won. The Saxons are in full retreat. They're making for the hills. I've dispatched two hundred men to drive our advantage home."_

_She nods. "And Arthur?" The pained question is on her face, in her eyes._

_He steps closer, says softly, "We'll keep looking."_

"_Thank you," she says. She covers her eyes for a brief instant, then her heart, then turns to an aide. "Oh, I'll need some fresh water," she orders, pulling her sleeves out of her way and returning to the wounded on the floor. _

_Leon leaves the tent…_

_Back in Camelot, Gwen stands at the window in the chamber she shares with Arthur, chin resting on her fist, watching the train of red-caped knights limping, carrying wounded. Behind her, the door opens to admit Leon._

"_Three more patrols have returned from the White Mountains, my lady," he says. "There is no sign of him." _

_Gwen's eyes slide shut, but only for a moment. "He must be somewhere," she insists._

"_We have spoken to every villager, every man, woman, child. There has been no word."_

"_He is out there."_

_Leon nods. "We will keep searching."_

"_He is alive." Gwen brushes a tear from her cheek. "I know it. I can feel it." Leon turns to go, and Gwen faces him. "Who else is still unaccounted for?"_

"_Gaius," Leon answers._

_Gwen's face betrays her shock. "He's not been seen?"_

"_Not since the battle."_

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_I slam my staff down on the dirt as I search, then drop it in a rush to the side of the king. Arthur is leaning his full weight on an outcropping, his head on his shoulder. My fingers go right to Arthur's neck to search for a pulse. The king lives. I pull Arthur's arm around my neck, and lift him in my arms._

_Mordred's body is left where it has fallen. _

_I carry my king from the battlefield…_

_It is dark when Arthur opens his eyes. "Merlin," he says. I turn from keeping watch and hurry back to his side._

"_How are you feeling?" I ask. Arthur tries to move and cries out in pain. I hold him down, and Arthur reaches for my shoulder. "Lie back. Lie back," I tell him, holding his arm to give him stability or comfort._

_Arthur tips his head back. "Where have you been?" he pants._

"_It doesn't matter now," I say. _

"_Oh, my si – my side," Arthur gasps, rolling his head as if to seek surcease from the pain._

"_You're bleeding," I tell him._

"_That's all right. I thought I was dying."_

_I hold his hand a little closer. "I'm sorry," I say. "I thought I'd defied the prophecy." Arthur's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "I thought I was in time."_

_Arthur rolls his eyes. "What are you talking about?"_

_I shake my head, trying to speak evenly, without tears. "I defeated the Saxons, the dragon, and yet – and yet I knew it was Mordred I must stop."_

_Arthur gives me a pitying look, somehow manages to pat my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "The person who defeated them was the sorcerer."_

_My face twists. "It was me." My voice sounds rougher now. I wait for understanding to come, but Arthur looks at me blankly. I take a sobbing breath._

_Arthur shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," he says. I'm still struggling not to let tears fall. "This is stupid. Wh-" He frowns. "Why would you say that?"_

"_I'm –" My voice breaks. I can't seem to breathe properly. I shake my head. "I'm a sorcerer," I whisper. Wary disbelief enters Arthur's eyes. "I have magic. And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you."_

"_Merlin, you're not a sorcerer," he tells me. "I would know."_

"_Look…here." I turn and reach out to the fire. I whisper, "Upastige draca," and the sparks form a flying dragon, complete with wing movement. I look back to Arthur's face – his eyes remain on the fire. I wait. Arthur looks away, then back at me with a strange fear._

"_Leave me," he whispers harshly._

_I frown. "Arthur –"_

"_Don't – just – you heard. Just –" He makes involuntary sounds of pain as he shifts to get away from me. I slowly retreat…_

_Gaius makes his way through the forest, aided by a walking staff. I jump up from my place by the fire, Arthur in my peripheral vision, as Gaius approaches. "Any change?" Gaius asks._

"_No."_

"_Let me see." Gaius goes to Arthur's side._

"_Is that all you got?" I demand, indicating the medicinal leaves in the physician's hand._

"_The hills are crawling with Saxons," Gaius reminds me._

"_There's no yarrow, no lady's mantle?" I persist._

"_I've got comfrey." Gaius shows me the handful of wide green leaves, and checks Arthur's forehead for signs of fever._

"_You should've got sticklewort," I say accusingly. "There must've been sticklewort."_

"_Merlin, why don't you water the horses?" Gaius suggests. "And make sure they're fed. We can't hide here for much longer."_

_I go to obey without another word. As soon as my back is turned, Arthur's eyes open to watch me go. Then he grabs Gaius. "He's a sorcerer," Arthur whispers. Gaius doesn't answer, just presses his lips together. Arthur sinks back. "You knew."_

"_Arthur." Gaius bends closer to the king. "He is your friend."_

"_I want him gone."_

"_There is no need to fear him," Gaius says, intending to reassure him._

"_Have him take word to Camelot, to Guinevere."_

"_We cannot send Merlin," Gaius disagrees. "I will go."_

"_No, I need a physician right now, not a sorcerer."_

"_He can do far more than me, far more than you can ever imagine. Arthur…" Arthur looks at Gaius again. "He doesn't just have magic. There are those who say he's the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth."_

"_Merlin?" A frown of skepticism wrinkles Arthur's brow._

"_If you are to stand any chance of survival, you will need Merlin to help you, not me," the old man counsels. Arthur's head turns toward where I have gone._

_I turn from feeding the white horse as Gaius joins me. "Gaius?" I say._

"_There's a fragment of sword embedded in his chest," Gaius tells me._

"_Well, we'll use magic to draw it out," I suggest._

"_No," Gaius says quickly. "The blade that struck Arthur was no ordinary blade. I fear it was forged in a dragon's breath. Its fatal power will not be easily denied." We both look over at Arthur, lying completely still, eyes closed. _

"_Aithusa?" I say._

"_The blade's point is traveling inexorably towards his heart. Not even you could hope to thwart such magic. It would take a power as ancient as the dragons themselves."_

"_No, there must be something we can do, Gaius," I plead._

_Gaius glances over his shoulder. "Only the sidhe possess such magic. In the midst of the lake of Avalon there is an ancient isle. That is the source of their power. You must take him there."_

_We look at Arthur at the same time, again. "He won't allow that," I say._

"_He will. I spoke to him…"_

_I descend the hillside to Arthur. "Arthur?" I say. He turns his head but doesn't meet my eyes. "We need to leave at first light."_

"_I'll decide," Arthur says._

"_I can't let you die," I answer._

_He looks at me a moment. "It doesn't change anything."_

"_Let him sleep," Gaius advises. "It's late. You cannot travel tonight." I step to Gaius' side. "You were right to tell him," he says to me._

_I nod, frowning, trying to keep my tears from leaving my eyes, rubbing my hands on my jacket…_

_I settle Arthur on horseback, where he can't seem to sit up straight. He pulls a leather cord from around his neck. "Gaius," he says. I move away so Gaius can take my place. "Give this to Guinevere." He places a small silver object in Gaius' hand._

"_It's the royal seal, sire," Gaius says in surprise._

"_If I am to die, I can think of no one who I would rather succeed me." Gaius nods and clasps Arthur's hand before moving back to me._

"_You know he was betrayed," I say. "The girl Eira cannot be trusted."_

"_I know," Gaius agrees._

"_How long does he have?" I ask in a low voice._

_Gaius hesitates. "At best, two days." I pass Gaius to reach the horses. "Merlin," Gaius says, facing me, and I return to accept my mentor's embrace. "I'll have your favorite meal waiting for you," he promises, releasing me. "Now go. Look after him." I glance up at Arthur. "Go," Gaius repeats. Arthur looks back at Gaius as I take the reins to lead the horses. And I look back also._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_Gaius gallops into the courtyard on a white horse with black mane and tail. He is met by Gwaine, and Gwen sees his arrival from the window. She rushes to meet him in the corridor. "Gaius!"_

"_My lady," Gaius says._

"_Tell me," Gwen demands._

"_He's alive," Gaius allows._

_Gwen gasps with a relief Gwaine clearly does not feel. "Then why isn't he with you?" the knight asks._

"_He is – wounded," Gaius admits, and holds out the seal. "He wanted me to give you this, my lady."_

_She takes the seal in the fingertips of both hands. "Where is he?" she asks on a sob._

"_There is a place where he may be saved," Gaius says. "Merlin is taking him there as we speak."_

_Gwen says quickly, "Well, we must send the knights." She turns to Gwaine. "Ready as many men as you can."_

"_No, my lady," Gaius intervenes. "Merlin can cope by himself."_

"_Merlin?" Gwen says, unsure._

"_You must trust him," Gaius says._

"_How can one man be as strong as an army?" Gwen argues._

"_Morgana's forces are still searching for Arthur," Gaius reminds her. "Two men traveling alone stand a much better chance of evading her, especially if she has no idea where they're heading…"_

_Gwaine stands at the window of his chamber. Eira approaches him from behind. "Hey," she says, "What is it?" He sighs and turns, giving her a smile. "Tell me," she says._

"_Can't," he replies._

"_Why not?" she asks, puzzled, but he doesn't answer. "Is it the king? What's happened to him? Gwaine? Is he dead?"_

"_No," he sighs._

"_How do you know? Where is he?" she continues. "Gwaine?" He is clearly reluctant to speak. "Don't you trust me?"_

"_I do," he says, reaching to touch her face._

"_Then tell me," she demands…_

_Eira hurries quietly through a darkened hall, stopping in a side room by an open window and producing a large black crow, which she tosses into flight through the window._

"_Eira," Gwaine says from behind her, and she jumps back, startled._

"_I – I was just –" she stammers._

"_Sending word to Morgana?" Gwaine finishes for her._

"_No!" Eira argues. Gwen steps into view, and Eira appeals to her, "My lady – I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't betray you or the king."_

"_And you didn't," Gwen says calmly. "You can go to your death safe in that knowledge. Your note will send your mistress riding for Breneved and all the while the king will be traveling in the opposite direction. Guards!"_

"_Gwaine," Eira pleads as a big guard enters to grab her arm. "Gwaine!" The guard wrestles her from the room. "Gwaine, please!" she says, but he refuses to look at her…_

_Gwen, alone in the hall, turns at the sound of footsteps to see Gaius approaching. _

"_You called for me, my lady?" Gaius says._

"_I want to thank you, Gaius," she says._

"_What for?"_

"_Unmasking Eira," she answers. "I shall forever be in your debt… and Merlin's. Was it he that found Arthur?"_

"_He's a good servant," Gaius states._

"_He's always been there at Arthur's side," Gwen says thoughtfully._

"_Indeed," Gaius agrees._

_She steps closer to the old man. "The sorcerer in the battle – you knew who he was."_

_Gaius presses his lips together before admitting, "Yes."_

_Gwen's eyes are bright. "Do I know him?" she asks. Gaius doesn't reply. "Please, Gaius, answer me honestly," she says._

_Gaius finally says again, "Yes." Gwen's smile widens incredulously. "He'll take good care of Arthur," the old man adds._

_Gwen nods. "Yes, I'm sure he will," she breathes. "I'm pleased." Gaius bows and withdraws, and she turns back to the window with hope on her face._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_A blade is driven deep into the earth near a cairn of rocks. There is a shard missing from one edge. Morgana stands, black hair blowing lankly, and speaks to the grave. "The battle is not over, Mordred. We will have our revenge…"_

_Morgana sits her throne, her chin on her chest. Three Saxons enter the hall and bow. "My lady, we have searched every valley, every gorge, every gulley. The king is nowhere to be found."_

_Morgana screams, "I want him dead!" She shakes in her rage._

"_We've looked!" one of the men insists._

_Morgana clenches her fist, and her eyes glow golden. The Saxon chokes and falls. One of the remaining two watches, while the other keeps his eyes on Morgana. "Find him," she orders, calm again. The men bow and leave._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_I look back across the moor to see two riders hard on our trail. "Saxons," I tell Arthur. I jump from my saddle and untie my bedroll to drape over Arthur, hiding his chainmail. "I'll deal with them," I promise him. "Keep your head down. Don't speak." I step away, looking out over the landscape, searching for something. I concentrate, and a wisp of smoke begins to rise through the trees in the valley. _

_Then I turn and flag the riders down. "Help us!" I shout. The riders stop and dismount. I have no trouble seeming distressed. "Please, you have to help us – we were ambushed."_

_The two riders approach, one with his hand on his sword. "By who?"_

"_These two men," I improvise._

"_What they look like?" the Saxon demands._

"_Uh – one was a –" I glance back at Arthur, see that the distinctive hilt of his sword is showing, "a knight. They stormed our camp." I point at the smoke in the valley, and as the two Saxons step away for a better look, I move back to Arthur's side to rearrange my bedroll to cover the king's sword._

_The bald, scarred Saxon steps up to me. "You sure it was a Camelot knight?"_

_I shrug. "Yeah." The bald Saxon pushes me back, two steps, then three, and reaches to tug the blanket free from the sword hilt. Both men draw their own weapons, stepping back in readiness._

_My eyes flash and I raise my hands to blast the men back. No remorse shows on my face._

_Arthur lifts his head to witness the display of power. "You've lied to me all this time," he says. I don't answer. I turn away…_

_In the cold and dark, I huddle over the firepit, attempting to strike a spark with the flint. Behind me, Arthur speaks. "Why don't you use magic?"_

_I consider the question. "Habit, I suppose," I answer, then look over my shoulder at Arthur. He gives an abbreviated but meaningful nod at the firepit. I look down, and a moment later the flames spring up. "It feels strange," I confess._

"_Yeah," Arthur agrees. I move away to see to our gear, finish preparing the camp for the night, and Arthur adds, "I thought I knew you."_

_I unroll my blanket on the fallen leaves. "I'm still the same person."_

"_I trusted you," Arthur says._

_I look at him. "I'm sorry."_

"_I'm sorry too," Arthur says. I reach to remove Arthur's boots. "What are you doing?" he protests._

"_They need drying," I explain, placing the boots by the fire, as Arthur watches with a confused look…_

_Sunlight filters down through the leaves at last._

"_This will be good for you," I say, offering a spoon to Arthur's mouth, the bowl in my other hand, but I receive no response. "You need to eat," I say._

"_Why are you doing this?" Arthur says, with no small irritation. I return the spoon to the bowl. "Why are you… still behaving like a servant?"_

_I set the bowl down on the ground. "It's my destiny," I say with a half-smile. "As it has been since the day we met."_

_A small smile quirks Arthur's lips. "I tried to take your head off with a mace," he says._

"_And I stopped you," I answer, "using magic."_

_He turns his head to see me more clearly. "You cheated."_

"_Yeah." I chuckle, shaking my head, and offer in explanation, "You were going to kill me."_

_Arthur looks away. "I should have."_

_The smile slips off my face. "I'm glad you didn't…" After a moment, I add, "I do this because of who you are." Arthur meets my eyes again. "Without you, Camelot's nothing."_

_He grimaces slightly. "There was a time when that was true. Not now. There are many who can fill the crown."_

_I try to smile, and shake my head. "Never be another like you, Arthur." I balance the bowl on my knee again, prop up Arthur's head with one hand and level the spoon with the other. "I also do this… because you're my friend, and I don't want to lose you."_

_Arthur accepts the mouthful of soup…_

_Later, and in a different place, Arthur slumps forward from his seat on a fallen tree, head bowed. I turn from retrieving the water-skin from the saddle on my horse and hurry to catch and support him. "Arthur? Arthur, you need to hold on – one more day." I ease him back upright. "One more day," I repeat, wiping sweat from Arthur's face._

_He sways unsteadily. "Why did you never tell me?" he asks._

_I say, "I wanted to, but…"_

_Arthur leans a little closer. "What?"_

"_You'd have chopped my head off," I finish with a little smile. I hold the spout of the water-skin to Arthur's mouth, and Arthur reaches to cup my hand as he drinks._

"_I'm not sure what I would've done," he admits._

_I look at him. "And I didn't want to put you in that position."_

_Arthur stares at me. "That's what worried you?"_

_My eyes shift away briefly. "Some men are born to – plow fields. Some live to be great physicians, others…" I give Arthur a secret smile, "to be great kings. Me? I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that. And I wouldn't change a thing." I plug the water-skin. "Ready?" I duck under Arthur's arm, hug his body close to provide the best support possible…_

_I lead the way on horseback, Arthur's mount following mine. I rein in, holding up a hand to warn Arthur. There is smoke visible through the trees ahead._

"_Saxons?" Arthur asks._

_I lean forward, using magic to see down the trail, to the abandoned campfire. "They're long gone," I assure Arthur._

"_How do you know?" he says, and his tone is not accusatory, but curious._

"_I can…see the path ahead," I admit with a little smile._

"_So you're not an idiot," Arthur concludes. "That was another lie."_

"_No." I give him another smile over my shoulder. "It's just another part of my charm." I click my tongue to urge the horses onward…_

_Again I hold up my hand to halt our progress. _

"_In there," I say, turning my mount to enter a thicket of evergreen just off the path. Three Saxon riders gallop past. I watch them, circling the tree to make sure we're not seen. Arthur leans heavily behind another wide trunk nearby, looking on. I notice the tracks made in the mud by our horses. I whisper, "Andslyht," to make the wind blow leaves over the marks. Arthur watches without a word. Hoofbeats approach, again, and I pull back. This time, my eyes glow with an unspoken spell, and the trees beyond the Saxons move suspiciously._

"_Right," says the lead Saxon, a man holding an ax, and they head away from us._

"_You've done this before," Arthur remarks. I look at him, but I don't answer, and turn back to watch the Saxons out of sight. "All these years, Merlin," Arthur continues, "you never once sought any credit."_

"_That's not why I do it," I say. "Come on." I take Arthur's arm across my shoulders again…_

_Some time later, once again mounted and in the lead, I look back to see Arthur leaning heavily over his horse's neck. I dismount to prop Arthur up higher._

"_I can't go on," the king says._

"_There's not far to go," I say pleadingly. "We need to reach the lake before dawn."_

"_No, Merlin," Arthur breathes, shaking his head. His eyes aren't even open. "No."_

"_All right," I say. "We rest for an hour."_

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_The crow caws as it flies through the vine-choked window, lands on the arms of the stone throne. Morgana turns from her Saxon allies with an expectant smile, reaching to take the note from its leg and unroll it._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_A red-cloaked crowd gathers in the courtyard around a gallows. Gwen in red velvet looks on from the balcony. Gwaine watches from a window, Percival behind him, hand on his shoulder. Eira, hands bound behind her, is pushed up the step toward the noose. She looks up at Gwen as the rope is fitted into place._

"_You know what you said you'd do," Gwaine says in a low voice, "if you ever found Morgana?" Percival looks at Gwaine, who turns from the window. "Well, we've got a good idea where she'll be heading…"_

_The two knights ride hard across the highlands, then more cautiously through the forest…_

_Two Saxons preceed Morgana through the ravine, four more following. Gwaine and Percival hide in the roots of a great tree at the top of one bank._

"_Position look-outs for the king's approach," Morgana orders. _

_As they move to obey, Percival takes one from behind, one big forearm over the man's face to silence him. Gwaine stalks another through the trees, cutting him down with two ruthless strokes. Two of their number return for the first and encounter both knights – and three Saxons are left dead on the floor of the ravine._

_Gwaine steals up behind Morgana. She turns and he gives her a quick, nervous smile. She sneers and moves toward him – and Percival leaps from a tree to plunge a knife in her back. She groans, then waves her hand to send first Percival flying, then Gwaine._

"_Did you really think you could outwit me?" she says, shaking her head…_

_Gwaine awakens to a faceful of water, each arm tied to a tree with rope where he kneels on the ground. Morgana sneers down on him. _

"_Tell me where the king is," she demands._

"_I'd rather die," Gwaine declares with a smile._

"_Then you shall have your wish," Morgana says, "once you've told me." She kneels, a box in her hands. "Not even you, Sir Knight, can resist the charms of the Nathair." She opens the velvet-lined box and the head of a black snake rises, hissing. Gwaine struggles but can't retreat…_

_Percival wakens, tied like Gwaine, but with arms stretched, suspended fully upright. He pulls without result, panting. In the distance he hears a man screaming in pain. He grabs the rope in determination, takes a deep breath, and pulls – muscles and tendons standing out, face reddening as he bellows, and the ropes snap. He falls to his knees. The screaming continues…_

_Percival kneels on the ground before Gwaine's bent body, lifts his head in both hands. _

_Gwaine grunts, mumbles weakly, "She's riding for Avalon."_

"_Gwaine," Percival says, distressed._

"_I failed," Gwaine moans._

"_No, you haven't," Percival protests, then repeats, "Gwaine," as the other knight's eyes close. He bends his forehead to touch Gwaine's…_

_Morgana gallops her horse through the dark woods…_

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_Beside a campfire, I spoon more broth into Arthur's mouth. "Merlin," he breathes. He lifts his head but I have to move where Arthur can focus on me. "Whatever happens…"_

"_Ssh," I say. "Don't talk."_

"_I'm the king, Merlin. You can't tell me what to do."_

_I smile and shake my head. "I always have. I'm not going to change now."_

"_I don't want you to change," Arthur says, guileless as a child. "I want you…to always… be you." He lifts his hand to make a gesture to emphasize his words, and can't seem to find them readily. "I'm sorry about how I treated you." It looks like he finds it hard to hold his head up, or steady._

"_Hey," I say, catching him a little. "Does that mean – does that mean you're gonna give me a day off?"_

"_Two," Arthur says._

"_That's generous." I smile, but Arthur's eyes fall shut and I reach to measure the pulse in the king's neck. After a moment I sigh and say, "Get some sleep."_

_After some time has passed, I say to him, "Arthur, we need to get moving." At first I can't rouse him. "Arthur!" He finally looks at me. "We've wasted enough time." I grunt as I lift Arthur to his feet._

_We ride awhile before dismounting to rest again, at the top of a hill where we can see a mist-covered lake, an island with a tower rising out of the mist._

"_Avalon," I say. "We'll get there."_

_Suddenly the horses whinny and spook, breaking free from their tether to bolt._

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I shout._

_Behind me a voice says, "Hello, Emrys." I turn, Morgana's eyes glow, and I am thrown violently back. Arthur breathes with difficulty, reaching for a sword he no longer carries. "What a joy it is to see you, Arthur," Morgana says, smirking as she comes to stand over him. "Look at you – not so tall and mighty now." She crouches down and he looks at her. "You may have won the battle, but you've lost the war. You're going to die by Mordred's hand. Oh, don't worry, dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I will stay and watch over you –" Behind her, I draw the king's sword – "until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood."_

"_No," I say, and she stands to face me. "The time for all this bloodshed is over. I blame myself for what you've become, but this has to end."_

"_I'm a high priestess," she spits at me. "No mortal blade can kill me." I plunge in the sword and she gasps – even Arthur jumps._

"_This is no mortal blade," I tell her as she writhes and looks anxiously into my face. "Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath." I twist it, lower her to the ground, and pull it free of her body. "Goodbye, Morgana," I say, as she gasps her last and her face is still._

_I go to Arthur. "All right," I say, trying to lift him again. His eyes stay on the body of his sister, until he focuses on me. We are inches away from each other in the moonlight._

"_Brought peace at last," he says._

"_Come on," I grunt. We stumble through the trees in the predawn gloom. "Come on," I say again. "We have to make it to the lake."_

"_Merlin," Arthur says. His legs give way and I can't hold him upright. But I won't let him go, so I land on the ground, cushioning Arthur's fall with my body. "Not without horses," Arthur goes on. "We can't. It's too late. It's too late," he repeats, as I struggle to sit up with him. "It's too…" My panting sounds desperate, now. "All your magic," Arthur says, "and you can't save my life." He pats my hand on his chest as if to console me._

"_I can," I say shortly. "I'm not going to lose you."_

"_Just, just-" Arthur pats my hand again, making no effort to cooperate with my attempts to get us both to our feet, anymore. "Just hold me. Please. There's – some – something I want to say."_

"_You're not going to say goodbye," I tell him._

"_No." He shakes his head, tries to see me clearly over his shoulder. "Merlin. Everything you've done… I know now… for me…" His voice breaks. "For Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build…"_

"_You'd have done it without me," I say, giving my head a little shake._

_Arthur tries to grin. "Maybe." His eyes slip past me to the sky. "I want to say… something I've never s… said to you before." He blinks drowsily, turns with an effort to get me back into his line of vision. "Thank you," he says deliberately. Then he reaches to touch the back of my head, smiles, and his eyes sink shut._

"_Arthur – hey," I say. I reach for Arthur's pulse. "No – Arthur." He doesn't respond. "Arthur!" I call, shaking him gently til his eyes flare open one last time. _

"_Stay with me," I whisper the plea, but his eyes close again with finality. "Arthur. No." I grit my teeth and growl with trying to lift my friend. "Arthur!" I scream and fall back._

_Then I gulp a deep breath of air and cry out at the top of my voice the summons for Kilgharrah, sobbing between the phrases of the dragon language. I hold Arthur's head so I can move out from underneath him._

"_Kilgharrah!" I call as the great beast lands. "I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice." I stand, Arthur lying at my feet, and the dragon bows his head as I move two steps closer. "I have one last favor to ask."_

_The dragon wings through the dim sky. I hold Arthur with one arm and Kilgharrah with the other, watching our progress, and the king's face. As the dragon glides in to land on the bank of the lake, dawn breaks._

"_Merlin," Kilgharrah says warningly, as I drag Arthur toward the little boat at the edge of the water. "There is nothing you can do."_

_I stop, but keep my hold on Arthur. "I've failed?" I said._

"_No, young warlock," Kilgharrah says. "For all that you have dreamt of building has come to pass."_

_I shake my head and cry out as I lift Arthur higher. My face is twisted in agony. "I can't lose him!" I shout at the dragon. "He's my friend!"_

"_Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Merlin. Arthur is not just a king. He is the once and future king. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. It has been a privilege to know you, young warlock. The story we have been a part of will live long in the lives of men." He turns and takes off, flapping upward into the pure blue of the morning sky._

_I lay Arthur down and look toward the island. My face is expressionless, my eyes deep wells of pain. I look down at the sword in my hand, rubbing my thumb over the grip, watching the light play along the edge of the blade. Then I hurl the sword far into the lake. It revolves end over end, then a hand rises from the water to catch the hilt and hold it, then lower Arthur's sword down below the surface…_

_I lay my hand on Arthur's forehead. The body of the king is arranged in the boat. My face twists – I try to control myself – then I sob, and tears are running down my face as I gasp for breath. I look out to the lake, then touch Arthur's clasped hands before I straighten._

"_Arthur," I whisper, shaking my head with regret. "In sibbe gereste," I wish for him. My eyes glow, and the boat moves. I watch Arthur go where I cannot follow, the little waves lapping the shore as the boat floats unerringly toward the island, then is gone._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_Gwen sits the throne, wearing her red velvet dress and the crown upon her head, her eyes downcast. She holds the seal in the fingertips of both hands, then sniffs and looks up, nodding to Leon standing at her left._

_Leon looks out over the gathered crowd, the knights, at Percival. "The king…is dead," he declares. Gaius looks at him, and Gwen. "Long live the queen!"_

"_Long live the queen!" they chant. It is not the cheer it once was, but it goes on. And Gwen meets their eyes with head held high._

…_..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….._

_The lake is there. The island is there. The tower, however, is nothing but a shortened ruin._

_Loud noise blares, and a large and fast blue wall moves past – a rectangular shape, on strange thick wheels, on a strange road that looks muddy but is not mud. A figure walks, wearing an odd long coat, a cap atop long white hair and beard, two bags slung over the shoulder. I pause beside the island, but I don't look. Then I keep walking._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

I staggered back from the crystal, my whole body heaving with the effort to breathe, my head splitting open with pain. "What was that?" I muttered to myself, exactly as I had done before. "_What was that_?"

The future. It was the future. It was beautiful, and it was terrible, and I could not allow it to come to pass, not like that. I knew what would happen, and I knew where to be. I knew what not to do. If this was my second chance, I was determined that Arthur would have one as well.

I rubbed my eyes, and leaned forward once again, concentrated through the stampede of wild horses inside my skull. "Arthur," I whispered again.

_Arthur sleeps with one arm around Gwen, cuddled at his side._

"Beware of Mordred," I told him in his dream. "He is with Morgana at Camlann. He will seek you out to kill you, if he can. You must watch your back at all times, Arthur. I will be there soon."

_ Arthur's eyes open, a faint puzzled look on his face. He lifts his head from the pillow, and that's enough to alert Gwen. "What's the matter?" she says, with a worried look. "Merlin," Arthur says. _

I leaned back from the crystal, satisfied for the moment. The future balanced on a razor's edge, but it's my edge. I have seen it, and know it. And will prevent it.

Footsteps gritted in the dust of the cave behind me, and I turned. "Thank you for your help, your guidance," I said.

"I only offered a hand," my father told me. "You stand tall on your own two feet, Merlin. You always have done."

"As did you, Father." I couldn't help a small smile, and my father chuckled. "I follow in your footsteps."

"Your journey has only just begun," he told me. "You wield a power you cannot yet conceive of. Only in the heart of the crystal cave will your true self be revealed." We both turned to look into the depths. "Move towards the light." He smiled at me. "Your destiny awaits."

I took one small step, then hesitated. I would have to tell Arthur… but if I prevented his injury at Mordred's hand, would he be so forgiving? If he did not see me use magic to protect us both from the Saxons, would he be so accepting? If he was not dependent upon me to help him move, what action might he take against me?

"Do not be afraid," my father said. I looked at him; his voice shook a little with emotion. "Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be."

I gathered my determination and stepped forward, climbing deeper into the cave. I turned. "Goodbye, Father," I said.

"There are no goodbyes, Emrys," he said. "For I will always be, as you will always be."

I swallowed, and turned to climb out of the cave toward the brightest light of all.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I wrote the first two chapters of this story to present the possibility of changing the fate we saw in episode 5.13. To my way of thinking, it's every fan for themselves to decide where it went from there… but this is my version of post-Crystal Cave events.**

**The Day in Crystal**

I couldn't change the _when_, couldn't get to Camlann any faster, it seemed, now that I was actually doing it, instead of just seeing it. My heart thundered in my chest and in my ears – now it was _real_.

I couldn't change the _where_. The sounds of battle reached my ears even as I leaped from my horse, heedless of whether it stayed or ran. The best vantage point over the narrow pass of Camlann was where I'd seen myself, before.

I couldn't even, it seemed, change _how_. The staff in my hand made directing the lightning a task easier, more accurate, and the dozen Saxons who surrounded Arthur fell back at the strike. He looked up at me.

"_Emrys_!" Morgana shrieked.

I called the lightning. Not at the ledge, the niche where she watched the battle and had already intervened on Mordred's behalf. _What happened_, Gaius had said, months ago, _to the young boy who came into my chambers just a few years ago_?

He grew up. He learned the meaning of duty. I heard Morgana's voice quite clearly, _until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood._

I flung the lightning at her. A single stroke from the top of her head to the sole of her foot. A judgment, for the choices she'd made, continued to make even after so many chances to turn away. A judgment for the blood on her hands, the innocent lives, those who had suffered at the hands of her soldiers, those of our own kin with magic who had believed her lies.

In response to her fall, Aithusa swooped down. But I was ready, and bellowed out, "_Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai! Weas!" _The white dragon paused midflight, then wheeled to flap across the dark sky. Aithusa had breathed no fire. That was different. It might not be enough, but it gave me such a great hope – if even the _smallest_ of details could be changed…

Saxons, Morgana, Aithusa – Mordred. I scanned the pass – I couldn't see Mordred.

"For the love of Camelot!" I heard Arthur cry, and he charged forward, out of my sight.

"No!" I shouted, but no one seemed to hear me as the battle continued. "No, no no!" I mumbled to myself, and cursed as I slipped and skidded and leaped down the cliff. _MORDRED_! I hollered mentally, making it a warning and a threat. He'd hear me, I was sure of it. But he wouldn't listen.

Somehow I came to the sandy, gritty ground of the pass not far from Morgana. She stirred feebly and I paused. "Help me, Emrys," she whispered, reaching her hand to me.

I wanted to kill her. Wanted to snap her neck or smother her breath, _anything_ to make sure she would never touch Gwaine, never track Arthur down, never scare away horses we might need – I needed to find Arthur, needed to be with him. I wished the lightning had killed her outright.

"Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?" I demanded, gesturing at the carnage and death around us, the red of Camelot and the black of the Saxon intermingled. She slumped back, not answering.

I turned to see several of the knights beginning to make their way through the battlefield of the pass, too far for me to recognize – though the big one might be Percival, which meant the dark-headed one next to him might be Gwaine. I hailed them as heartily as I could in my old man's croaky voice, and pointed downward.

"Morgana!" I shouted in explanation, but didn't stay to find out what they might want to do with _me_.

I didn't waste time searching for him. I knew where he'd be, unless somehow I had prevented - I saw him, facedown on the ground, only about a yard from Mordred's body. Ye gods, he had indeed fallen at Camlann.

My heart stopped, but somehow my feet kept going. And when I came around him to the side where his face was turned, I saw that his eyes were open. He was conscious. _That was different_, I told myself. _Fallen, but not dead_. I let the staff fall from my hand as I reached for him, and he had enough strength to push himself up to his knees, to hold onto my arms as I raised him to his feet, eased him back to the outcropping where I had seen him rest, before. I turned my attention to his lower left side, where I expected to see the wound from Mordred's sword.

"Don't touch me again, sorcerer," Arthur's voice wasn't strong, but it was steady, and cold.

"Are you injured?" I said. Damn that chainmail, it was always so hard to see where he was hurt and how badly. Mere exhaustion would not keep him lying in the dust, reclining on the rock like this, not with Saxons still running from their loss and knights following to press their advantage. Not with wounded to check and men to reassure and encourage.

"Why do you care," he took a breath, "if I live or die?"

"I care," I said shortly, reaching to move his arm away from his body. If he was bleeding badly, it would begin to show, to seep through the links of his armor. "We can talk later, Arthur, just –" he weakly tried to push my hands away, and I blazed at him, "let me help you!"

"Help me." Arthur chuckled bitterly, and it became a cough. "You killed my father, what does it matter if I die, too?"

"You just saw me defending you from the Saxons!" I said incredulously.

"How do I know," Arthur responded deliberately, "that you weren't aiming for me, and just happened to miss?"

I laughed. If he had recognized me for Merlin, the often-clumsy manservant, he couldn't have offered a more appropriate accusation. _You missed the target, _Mer_lin, and took down a dozen other men standing around. _Butif he had recognized me for Merlin, he'd never believe I could be aiming for him. I laughed until the tears came, and recognized it an outlet for the turmoil of emotions fighting to pour out of my heart. He watched me doubtfully, probably sure that I was mad.

Then I pushed his hand down to his side, gently but firmly, and it hurt that I was able to – Arthur's physical strength had always exceeded mine. _And always would_, I vowed. There was a smear of blood on his left side, high up toward his shoulder. I twisted about, searching, found Mordred's damned blade – and there was the nick in the edge, the piece that had broken.

There were differences from what I had seen – but what if it wasn't enough?

"I'm sorry," I managed to say. He looked at me with weary suspicion, as I returned to his side. There was no way I could convince him, and no time. I spoke the spell, "_Efencume, aetgaedre eala gastas craeftige, gestricie pis lic forod_." I spoke slowly and clearly, and I could see a dawning comprehension in his eyes as he recognized the spell I had used, so long ago it seemed, trying to heal Uther Pendragon.

He flinched from my fingers and tried to glare at me, but at least it was obvious that he wasn't dying as his father had.

What concerned me was that the wound seemed no better, either. "Roughly translated," I said tiredly, "It means something like, o spirits assemble together your skill, mend this broken body."

He shifted, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "You're rubbish at healing, then," he said.

I nodded and chuckled, and felt tears roll down my face. I scrubbed at them quickly with the sleeve of the red robe. "It does seem that way sometimes," I admitted, and reached to try to lift him.

"No," he said. "Just – just – just let me rest a moment."

"I'm sorry," I said again, leaning against the rock face beside him. "I did my best to heal your father, Arthur, but in my eagerness to show you that magic can be used for good, I did not notice the amulet that had been placed on his body, bearing a spell that would both reverse and magnify the magic I used – in that, I am to blame for your father's death."

Because I was still mostly standing and he was seated nearly levelly, I could see only the top of his head. "An enchanted amulet," he said. "That's a lousy excuse."

I snapped, "Why do you always believe the lousy excuse, but never the truth?"

He raised his head and looked at me, and I couldn't hold his eyes. "And who would have used such a thing against my father?" he said.

I sighed. "Can you think of no one in your household at the time who might have betrayed you so?" I said.

"Agravaine," he breathed, and his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry." I couldn't help touching his shoulder, trying two other healing spells that I knew, though neither did any good other than easing the pain, providing some comfort. He didn't react at all. "The Saxons," I said. "The dragon, Morgana – I _knew_ it was Mordred I must protect you from."

"_You_ knew." Arthur voice was brittle. "Agravaine. And Mordred. _Merlin_ knew…. Did everyone know that I was to be betrayed again by someone I'd trusted?"

Arthur's bane was himself. That trust. And I, if I was to take this second chance, to appease the Disir, if Arthur was to survive, I must betray that trust also. I slid down to a crouch next to him.

"I was checking the wounded," he mused. "For survivors, for any who needed medical care. Merlin said –" he glanced at me, and then away – "I had a warning that Mordred would attack me from behind, so – I heard him coming. At first, I couldn't believe it. He'd stabbed Morgana in the back to save my life. I'd given him a place among my knights, trusted him. He risked his life for me in the Grove of Breneved. I granted his request that the girl he loved – the girl who tried to kill me – be given a second chance."

As Arthur shook his head, it wobbled a little unsteadily, and I reached for the hand that hung limply between us, reached to press my fingers against his wrist to gauge the rate and strength of his heartbeat. He looked at me with surprise.

"_He will seek you out to kill you, if he can_," he repeated my own words back to me. "I hesitated, just enough, and he wounded me," he gestured to his shoulder, "before I killed him." He shook his head again, his eyes dropping closed, his chin sinking toward his chest.

I leaned forward to retrieve both dragon-breathed blades, Mordred's and Arthur's, gripping them awkwardly in one hand, then encouraged my king to put a rather floppy arm around my neck. I snugged his body against mine with my other arm, and stood for both of us.

Arthur leaned heavily on me as we shuffled through the pass. But I wasn't carrying his unconscious body, and I wouldn't be hiding him in the forest.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Halt!" It was Leon's voice, Leon's sword extended very definitely toward my middle as I made for the king's tent.

"Not now, Leon!" I snapped, tossing the blade aside with a thought.

Percival said from behind me, with the touch of his own blade at my ribs, "That is our king you are holding, sorcerer."

It didn't really surprise me that we had been discovered. Of course the knights would be on the lookout for Arthur, and our going was slow and clumsy. "And that is a sword you're holding!" I croaked impatiently. "And it is still sharp, Percival!"

"The last we saw of you, you threatened to kill Arthur." I didn't have to peer past Arthur to know that it was Gwaine approaching from the other side.

"And now I am trying to save him, yes, life is complicated," I growled. "Now, your king is heavy, and if you really want me to walk over you again, I can oblige, but if not, stand aside that I may take him to his tent! And someone go for Gaius!"

Arthur was still supporting some of his weight, but his head was bowed all the way forward, his eyes were closed, and he didn't respond to any of our voices.

Someone called to us, and Leon, the only knight I could see right now, turned. "Gaius, you are needed!" he responded.

"Arthur!" Gaius exclaimed a moment later, astonished. I knew he'd have questions for me later, but the physician in him took over. "Bring him in here – do lower your swords, Percival and Gwaine, you are not helping. Leon, if you would please let Gwen know that he has been found." Gaius held the tent flap aside, and Arthur and I shuffled into the tent.

I led him hobbling to the bed, where we turned and sat together, before I ducked out from under his arm. Gwaine was right behind us, and reached to unbuckle Arthur's armor, but I shrugged him away, pushing the two dragon-forged blades in my fist at his chest.

"You take care of these," I told him, "and let me take care of Arthur." I began to remove Arthur's chainmail as quickly as I could, the ease and familiarity of years hindered only slightly by aged and arthritic fingers.

Gwaine backed away to place both swords on a rack close to one wall of the tent, and didn't say anything.

"I think it's only the left shoulder we need to worry about," I said to Gaius, as my mentor helped me ease off the jacket Arthur wore under his armor. Our king stayed unsteadily upright, but he wasn't fully conscious. "I don't think he's hurt anywhere else. Mordred's blade was dragon-forged by Aithusa. A small piece –" I held up thumb and forefinger to show him the approximate size, and Gwaine bent to examine the sword in the rack – "lodged in the wound."

Both of Gaius' eyebrows rose. "How do you know –"

"I saw it all in the crystals," I rasped. "Knife." I snapped my fingers, and a dagger from a stand on the opposite side of the bed darted into my grasp.

I was aware that Gwaine had partially drawn his weapon behind me, but I ignored him and cut Arthur's shirt away from the wound, the thin white material stained and sodden with blood. Thick red liquid still oozed from the mark, too close to Arthur's heart for my comfort, but as I examined it gently, I could see that the blade had opened the wound in an upward direction, probably striking the inside of his shoulder blade before stopping. I checked – there was no wound on his back.

"I attempted to draw the piece of metal," I said, as Gaius hovered.

"If the blade was forged in a dragon's breath," Gaius began, "Its fatal power –"

"Yes, yes, I know," I said impatiently, "its fatal power will not be _easily_ denied." But it resided in muscle tissue, not any of Arthur's organs. "We'll have to make another cut to remove the shard." Arthur's head rolled toward me on his pillow and his eyes focused briefly.

"Such a fragment," Gaius said slowly, "would resist removal."

"We can't leave it," I snapped. "It'll kill him."

Gaius pushed more insistently, and I backed up to let him conduct his own examination. Gwaine moved silently where he could see all three of us. Arthur grunted, and my mentor murmured soothingly. Then Gaius relinquished his place to me again, and I continued to slice the king's shirt for a temporary bandage as he wiped his hands on his blood-stained apron.

"The metal is lodged on the outer curve of the second rib," Gaius said. "I believe you could use your magic to fuse the metal and bone. The shard will stay in place…"

"And then?" I said.

"Then – we'll see." He patted my shoulder. "I will return with proper bandaging materials, water for washing. I have comfrey –"

"Any yarrow?" I said. "Lady's mantle? Sticklewort?"

"I brought all I had in Camelot," Gaius said. "It's been used."

"And the hills are crawling with Saxons," I sighed. "Maybe I can get some later. Gaius, just – send the supplies. There must be dozens who need you. I'll stay with Arthur."

Gaius nodded and turned to leave. "Come, Sir Gwaine, I am in need of your services."

For a moment, Gwaine stood in Gaius' way in the entrance of the tent. "You trust him enough to leave him alone with Arthur?"

I pretended I didn't hear, keeping my back to them as I pressed gently against the wound.

"He has watched over and protected Arthur for many years, Gwaine," Gaius said, his voice at once gentle and stern. "There is no one better suited to care for him."

"I can think of someone," Gwaine muttered rebelliously, and I had to smile, because he couldn't see me. Little did he know… I sighed. "Arthur," Gwaine continued stubbornly, "needs a physician, not a sorcerer."

"What about a man who is both?" Gaius said.

I heard a rustling of cloth, and then silence. Arthur's eyes opened drowsily, but showed no alarm at seeing me, if he even realized who I was – or at least, who I looked like. I took a deep breath. Even if he didn't know me as myself, this was going to be strange.

I began to speak the words of the spell. Even through my concentration I was aware that his expression was one of reluctant fascination, and that his eyes never left my face.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Merlin."

His voice woke me immediately, though it was still night, and very softly spoken. I straightened in my chair, turning to the bed. He hadn't moved, he was still flat on his back, the blanket tucked over his chest and under the injured arm. I leaned forward, noticing that Gwen had come to sleep in the large bed also, curled on her side and as close to Arthur as she could get without touching him.

"How'd you know I was here?" I said, softly so I wouldn't disturb the queen's rest. I moved where I could see his face and he could see me.

His fingers twitched in an abortive attempt to point. "Could see your boots, you idiot, no one wears boots like yours."

The bandage on his shoulder was still white, more a precaution than anything else, since I had fused the sword fragment to his rib-bone and healed the tear in the flesh and muscle. I peeled the bandage back to check the thick pink scar, to test that patch of skin for any increased heat. He was watching my face, so I gave him a reassuring grin, easing the bandaging back into place.

"We'll get you a sling for the ride back to Camelot," I promised. Back to Camelot! _Everything_ was different, now. "Keep your arm immobile for–"

"Merlin," he said again. "Where have you been?"

My heart twisted just a little. I could hear what he had not said. _There was a battle – there was a sorcerer – there were enemies – Where were _you?

"Sticklewort," I whispered, and grinned at his look of confusion. "Lady's mantle, and yarrow."

He moved his head negatively on the pillow. "I will never understand you, Merlin."

"You haven't fathomed me out yet, sire?" I teased. Hopefully. If he guessed, if he figured it out…

"I had a dream about you," he said, frowning in mild bewilderment, probably brought on by the loss of blood, the lateness of the hour, the tonic for pain I'd made him swallow upon my return from the woods as myself. "You said –" He paused. I understood. Now that I was here, beside him, how unbelievable it seemed.

I wanted to tell him. Oh, how I wanted to tell him. My time was up. So was his. This was borrowed time, now – _stolen_ time. And it was running out, once again. But my physician's training said, _wait. Give him time to recover from this wound before you inflict another_. The _shock_… the saying went, _the shock could kill him_.

"If it was about me, it must've been a nightmare," I whispered. "Let me guess – you dreamed that in my absence your chambers became an absolutely unlivable disaster?"

"Merlin –" he said.

"No, I know," I continued stubbornly, still smiling, "You dreamed I was a perfect servant and kept your quarters impeccably, and you had absolutely no reason to yell at me, was that it? How frustrating that must have been for you!"

My reward was a little quirk of a smile he couldn't quite hold back. "You are ridiculous," he said. "I'm glad you're here."

"Better late than never," I quipped softly, and had to rub the cuff of my shirt at the corner of my eye.

"That's the story of your life," Arthur said. He rested for a moment, his breathing deep and even, his eyes on the tent material above the bed, moving slightly in the night breeze. "But herbs were not all you brought back from the woods," he said then.

"What?" I asked.

"The old man," he said. "The old sorcerer." I couldn't tell by his tone whether he was angry with that man – with _me_ – or pleased. Or just resigned. "Gaius knows him. He told you where to find him, when my father… was dying. He told you, didn't he, where that old man went, after. It wasn't back to that hut was it, but… a cave. In the valley of the fallen kings."

I couldn't say anything. I just sat there, feeling my mouth gaping open. How could he be so close to the truth, and yet still miss it completely?

Arthur gave me the ghost of a self-satisfied smile. "Close your mouth, Merlin, you look like a fish," he said. "Gwaine told me where he'd taken you – now, correct me if I'm wrong, but herbs don't grow in caves, do they? You gave that old sorcerer your horse… which is _why_ you're so late."

"The sorcerer…" I managed. _It was me_, I should say. And then he would say, _Don't be ridiculous. This is stupid_… and there would be wary disbelief in his eyes, and then a strange fear… And then he would send me away.

"I'm not angry, Merlin." He sighed, and winced as he shifted in the bed. "He saved us all. How does my shoulder look? I think he managed to heal me, at least partially. If you know where to find him, I think I'd like to arrange a conversation, sometime."

"Yes," I said faintly. _All these years, Merlin, you never sought any credit_… And I didn't want it, this time, either. I couldn't say, _it was me_. Damn it all, if there was anything these last ten years had taught me, it was, there was never going to be a good time.

"Maybe now there'll be time to re-examine those old pre-Purge laws," Arthur continued, his eyes once again turned upwards, as if he was speaking to himself. "Even though Mordred… well, the Disir kept their word, didn't they? Maybe…" he blinked, then again, more slowly. Then he dropped his eyes to me and smiled in a worn-but-contented way. "Glad you're here, Merlin," he mumbled. He turned his head toward Gwen on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

I sat and watched him fall asleep. My heart was thundering, my throat dry. He was so close to guessing. He had missed me. I would betray him if I told him. Things would never be the same between us, and my thoughts ran in confusion. There was no _right_, or _best_. Just a choice.

An idea entered my mind, a twisted, sickly, cowardly idea. If Arthur amended laws, began to allow the practice of magic – even severely restricted magic, even just for healing, or just for defense, or just under supervision…

If magic was legal, I could "become" a student of magic. Arthur might even encourage me, applaud my progress. He might even respect my "newfound" knowledge and strength. We could "discover" that I was the prophesied Emrys. I could "become" a powerful sorcerer by the side of my king – and he would never need to know that I had lied. Ever. Even once.

I wanted him to know of my magic. But not the years of lies and hiding. Yes, a twisted, sickly, cowardly idea. My silence for his happiness – but that was not the deal the Disir had given me. My freedom from lies meant his trust in me destroyed. There was no good answer. This would not end well for either of us, I was afraid.

I would give anything for his life and his happiness, but it seemed he could not keep both. And I could keep neither my secret nor his trust.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

I glanced to make sure the wounded soldier was unconscious, before placing my hand lightly on the bandage on his side. There weren't many left, the wounded of whom Gaius said to me in a low voice, _only your magic_… Those for whom magic was their only hope had either died before I could reach them, or I had healed them the first day.

This man had suffered a slash across his side. Gaius had stitched and treated the wound, but it had festered and the man's fever had risen steadily. Gaius thought maybe the bowel had been nicked, and by the smell of the wound, I thought he was probably right.

I knelt by the cot in the infirmary, bowed my head and whispered the words. It reminded me, always, of my father healing Arthur's wound. As long as the wounded person could not see the gleam of magic in my eyes, any other person could stand right next to me and I could excuse the spell for muttered words of encouragement. The wound would remain bandaged until the next time he was due for an examination, and Gaius would get credit for being an amazing physician. It was almost laughably easy.

"Merlin," Gaius said, and I knew from his tone what he wanted. It wasn't a _stop doing magic in public you stupid boy _tone, nor yet a _Merlin you've forgotten what I asked you three times to fetch_ or a _watch where you're going you've knocked over that medicine and broken it_ tone. It was a _come give me a professional opinion_ tone.

I stood from the side of the newly-healed soldier, resting comfortably now, and the world turned briefly white. I heard ringing in my ears, and almost collapsed right onto the cot with the man, but if I took a minute to clear my head, they would wonder what was wrong with me. As I turned, I tripped on the leg of the bed, but though the formerly-injured man was jostled, he didn't wake.

Arthur sat on a higher narrow table at one side of the room, used by Gaius for examining and treating before the injured man was moved to a cot, removing his shirt stiffly and uncomfortably. I made my way to them carefully so I wouldn't fall – again, I had bruises on both knees from being in a hurry and tired and of course what always happened whenever I was either.

"Merlin," the king greeted me. "Gaius assures me you've been keeping busy – I'll have to take his word for it, since _I_ haven't seen you do a lick of work the last three days."

"To be honest, sire," I returned, "I'd rather be charged with the care of a dozen wounded soldiers –" I gestured around the room – "than with one royal pain in the –"

"_Merlin_," Arthur threatened, his attention focused on me as Gaius performed his examination of the healing scar on his shoulder. "If you value your head, do not finish that sentence."

"Shall we ask Gwen how well you've been behaving?" I murmured. "I bet you don't bully her…"

We had all taken on extra duties when we returned to Camelot. As there was far too much medical work to expect Gaius to handle alone, I hadn't seen Arthur since we'd gotten back. Hadn't hardly been out of the infirmary, actually. Gwen had taken over Arthur's care, assisted by various other servants who had a moment or two, and I received observations from some of the knights as they performed random duties like carrying fresh water or meals for those recovering.

"Think I'd rather be recuperating in one of these beds than playing nursemaid," Gwaine had grunted.

"Gwen's got her hands full," Percival had told me with one of his slow smiles, when I asked after our king.

Leon had looked at me seriously. "_He's_ getting lots of rest," he told me. "Take care of yourself, too, Merlin, all right?"

Gaius questioned Arthur, "You've kept your arm in the sling? Restricted your activities, no movement of the limb at all?"

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes," he groused. "Yes, and no." He flinched as Gaius tapped his elbow in a wordless command to raise his arm.

"Merlin." Gaius turned to me. "I want you to lift Arthur's arm, to the anterior, posterior, and lateral directions, then rotate the joint. Arthur, do not attempt to use the muscles at all, simply let your arm remain lax."

I obeyed, standing at Arthur's left and slowly working his arm, one hand around his wrist and the other supporting his elbow as necessary. Gaius probed at the area an inch or so up and out from the scar, where the shard remained. Both of us watched the reactions of Arthur's expression to gauge his level of pain.

"Still quite tender," Gaius pronounced. "It will take some time for your body to form scar tissue around that bit of metal."

"How long before I have full use of it again?" Arthur demanded, shrugging out of my grip and facing Gaius as I shook out his shirt and began to help him into it, injured arm first as there would be less jostling that way.

"It is too early to say, sire," Gaius said, after a second's pause.

Arthur seemed not to have heard that ominous pause. "I can resume normal duties, then?" he said, impatiently ducking through the collar of the shirt I bunched together for his convenience. "None of this, confined to my bedchamber nonsense anymore?"

"No lifting, no carrying – no training," Gaius said sternly. "But yes, you should be fine to resume your other duties, as long as you don't push yourself beyond the capabilities of your endurance."

"I don't plan to," Arthur said, easing down from the table. "Not when I've got Merlin here to push beyond the capabilities of his endurance." He gave me a grin, daring me to protest.

I didn't. I couldn't help thinking of the crystals, Gaius saying, _at best, two days_. By now I'd have pushed Arthur's body out onto the lake in the boat… I could only stand there, grinning back at him, thrilled at the prospect of a list of unnecessary chores and bellowed insults.

"You must be exhausted," Arthur commented, as Gaius turned to wash his hands in a basin. "Never thought I'd see the day when you're too tired to be rude."

"I'm saving it up, sire," I said. "Just wait til tomorrow."

"Mm," he said dubiously. "Make sure you get a good night's sleep, Merlin – you have real work tomorrow, not the laziness you've gotten away with around here." Gaius raised his eyebrow, but Arthur's sarcasm was only superficial, and we all knew it.

I watched him walk away. There was energy in his stride, and he tested his shoulder and arm as he went, albeit gingerly.

"I've got to tell him," I said to Gaius.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he said.

"Six months have passed," I said. "I was told, I needed to accomplish revelation, assume my identity, tell him my name." They had said, _he will accept you, or he will not. And seal his doom_. "I saw him dead, Gaius, in the crystals in the cave. I saw Mordred run him through." I turned and showed the physician the location on my own side.

"I see," Gaius said. "Was that how you knew a fragment had splintered from the blade and remained inside the wound."

I nodded. "You said, the shard would travel inexorably toward his heart, that my magic would not be strong enough. I was taking him to Avalon, but we were too late. I saw him die, Gaius."

"But you were able to change it," Gaius said. He glanced around and drew me a little further into the corner. "Did you see yourself tell him of your magic?"

"Yes."

"And?"

I hesitated. "At first, he wanted to send me away. But by the end… he thanked me." I blinked and cleared my throat and he patted my arm.

"That's very encouraging then, isn't it?" he said.

"But he had no choice," I argued. "He was weak, and alone – he saw me do magic to hide us from the Saxons, to save both our lives – he was _dying_, Gaius, and he _knew_ it. Now that he isn't, will he forgive me?"

Gaius turned so that we stood side by side, surveying the room together. A couple of maids moved between the cots, but no one needed our immediate attention. My magic, I knew, would no longer be required, for the remaining patients to make full recoveries.

Another figure entered the room with a bucket of water and a dipper, made her way to the end row and began offering water to the convalescing wounded – a blonde girl, a refugee from one of the outposts attacked by Morgana weeks ago. A girl I had seen in the crystals hung for treason, the girl who had betrayed all of us – telling our enemy of Arthur's plan. She was the only one who could have told Morgana of the trip Gwaine and I intended to take to the cave. She _would have_ told Morgana the location of the wounded, vulnerable king as we traveled to Avalon.

Gaius interrupted my thoughts. "Have you thought about - _how_ you will tell him?"

I laughed, but it sounded bitter in my ears. "For years," I said. "Mostly I hoped he would just see, or guess… I've thought of little else since we went to Breneved, but…"

"The longer you wait, the harder it gets?" Gaius guessed.

"Arthur deserves the truth," I said. Even if it hurts. He deserved the chance to – do with me as he saw fit. Whatever justice required. "Now that we've passed Camlann, and Mordred and Morgana are both dead and buried there… they all deserve the truth. I've thought about talking to Arthur in his chambers, at the end of the day." That idea appealed to me, just he and I, and probably a long and sleepless night to follow – but those several hours might serve to temper his initial reaction before he made a decision.

"I think," Gaius said, "you are right to tell him."

"Do I have your blessing?" I said, facing him. "I mean to say, if I tell him, he's going to know that… that you knew."

Gaius raised one eyebrow at me. "Arthur's temper on a bad day is not as dangerous as Uther's caprice on a good day," he told me, "and I dealt with that for more than twenty years. Do not worry about me, my boy. It is part of a physician's privilege to keep confidential the secrets of those under his care."

"I hope Arthur agrees with you," I murmured.

"Do as he says, Merlin," Gaius said, gesturing to one of the empty cots where I'd been catching a few hours' nap whenever it was convenient. "Get some rest."

"I will," I told him. "I have someone I need to speak with, first."

Leaving Gaius, I made my way between the cots to where Eira offered another dipperful of water to a man with a bandage around his hand. Her bored expression turned briefly guilty as she met my eyes, then she turned her face to pretend interest in the man on the cot.

"I'm very sorry," I said to her, conversationally.

"Excuse me?" She was confused.

"The death of your – friend, in Camlann," I said. "You must miss her."

A look of terror came into her eyes, and she blurted, "I would never –"

"Never mind," I said soothingly. "I'm not concerned about her anymore. But Gwaine, now, I am concerned about him."

She hesitated. "What are you saying?" she demanded guardedly.

"If you truly love him," I said, "and you are happy being with him, then I will say nothing further. If you don't," I shrugged, "it's best you leave sooner rather than later, wouldn't you say?"

She looked at me and understood exactly what I was saying. "I think – it's sooner," she said carefully.

"Don't suppose we'll be seeing you in Camelot again," I said, my tone cheerful. "Ever."

She agreed, "No," and gave me a last glance, before she darted from the room.

I went back to the spare cot and curled up, trying to pass one last peaceful night in sleep.

**FYI, there are two more chapters after this one, will post tomorrow and the next day.**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Day in Crystal**

I was on time the next morning. Actually, I was so nervous I was early, but I loitered in the corridor outside Arthur's chamber door until the dishes clattered on the tray because my hands were shaking, and the guard at the end of the corridor neglected protocol to glance at me curiously. Twice.

Depositing the tray on the table, I made my way to the window and opened the curtains. It was going to be gloriously sunny – not a cloud in the sky.

"Rise and shine!" I tossed cheerfully over my shoulder. Arthur was alone in the bed; Gwen had, as usual, risen earlier to prepare for the day in an adjoining chamber with her maid. Arthur grunted and mumbled something that sounded like, _shut it, Merlin._

"You told me we have real work today," I said innocently, going to the wardrobe to lay out clothing suitable for a public audience. Then I turned on the sarcasm. "I have done next to _nothing_ all week, I am _so_ looking forward to –" A cushion thumped into the side of my head. I grinned and finished, "_Real work_. And you, sire, have been _literally_ lying in bed –" I ducked the next pillow. "I should think you'd _jump_ at the chance to –"

"_Merlin_!" The bellow was muffled by the bedspread, and another pillow launched in my direction.

"Did you remember why you missed me?" I asked, and caught the fourth pillow. "You just go right ahead and keep throwing these – maybe when you run out of pillows you'll finally haul your lazy ass –"

Arthur surged up from the bedclothes and reached for the goblet that set on the bedside table. I made ready to catch or duck, whichever would save me the bruise, but Arthur flinched and drew back before his fingers reached the goblet, hunched over his left arm.

I tossed the pillow back onto the bed behind him, and turned back to the wardrobe. Not much use, really, pretending it was a morning like any other.

I liked the look of _this_ jacket, it was an older one and reminded me of countless times we'd spent together – but I didn't know if that would ultimately work for me or against me. And would he then be suspicious that I tried to manipulate him? If I wanted to do that, perhaps I should choose _this_ shirt, by far the most comfortable he owned.

"What _are_ you doing?" Arthur demanded. He'd moved to the edge of the bed, left hand curled in his lap, right hand rubbing first one eye, then – awkwardly – the other. "It hasn't been that long since you've done this, surely you haven't forgotten everything? Perhaps I should have George –"

"That won't be necessary," I said, grabbing garments I knew would be fine for an informal but public hearing. "At least one of us here in this room already has learned how to dress ourselves, and the other is lucky that this one manages to do it for both of us –"

"Has this one learned how to shut his mouth and do his job quietly?" Arthur shot back.

"That's part of why you're lucky to have me, sire," I said, helping him to remove the shirt he'd slept in – normally he didn't actually require this sort of assistance, but with his arm still sore, he wouldn't be protesting. "I can do many things at once, including –"

"Including babbling like an idiot while you manhandle your king," Arthur grumbled, hissing as I yanked the sleeve a little too energetically.

"Including reviewing the royal schedule while I make sure His Majesty is presentable in any audience chamber in the five kingdoms –"

"Just mine'll do," Arthur mumbled. "Fine, then, Merlin, what are we doing today?"

"First of all, you've got an audience with one of the servants," I said, positioning the sleeve of the jacket below his left hand before drawing it carefully up his arm, then holding it at an angle easy for him to find the other armhole with his right hand.

"One of the servants?" he said blankly, sauntering over to the table to lift the dish-covers, probably in search of sausage. I followed to fasten the toggles of the jacket, figuring the task would probably be nearly impossible to do, one-handed or without pain. "Don't they usually bring petitions to Guinevere?"

"Who has a petition for me?" the queen asked, entering the room, fresh and pretty. I hadn't seen her since we arrived in Camelot, either, except for an occasional brief glimpse when she visited the infirmary to fetch something for Arthur or pose a question to Gaius. "Good morning, Merlin," she said to me. "This looks lovely. _Thank you_."

I didn't turn to look at her as I adjusted the fit of the jacket across Arthur's shoulders. In the crystals, I had seen her say to Gaius, _the sorcerer in the battle_ – _do I know him_? Well, if she hadn't already guessed, she'd know soon enough.

"No one, evidently," Arthur answered. "It's an audience for me." He moved around me to seat himself in his chair at the head of the table, and I turned to draw Gwen's chair out for her.

"Actually," I corrected, as casually as I could, "the presence of both your majesties has been requested."

"How mysterious," Gwen teased. "Can you tell us who it is, or what they want to say?"

The water I was pouring from pitcher to goblet spilled on my hand. I set the goblet down carefully, shook the droplets off behind my back. "I believe it is about – reporting a crime," I said carefully. I didn't want to lie anymore, but if they questioned more closely, I'd have to, or confess right here.

"Why are you so nervous about it?" Arthur grinned, shifting to watch me as I moved to fill his own goblet. "It isn't like anyone is planning on reporting _you_ –" The water gushed from the pitcher, over my hand, sleeve, and his hand, which he yanked back with an exclamation of surprise and discomfort.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I mumbled, glancing around for a towel or rag, then finally using my sleeve to sop up the mess.

"Unless they're reporting you for sheer clumsiness!" Arthur said in exasperation.

"Arthur," Gwen said reprovingly.

"But that's not news to anyone, is it?" Arthur continued. "If clumsiness was a crime –"

"I know, I know," I said, trying to keep a believable smirk on my face, "I'd have been executed a long time ago."

"Honestly, how I have put up for so long with a servant so inept –" My elbow banged the dish of apples, sending them all tumbling. "Go, Merlin," Arthur ordered. I snatched at the apples to keep them from falling off the table and bruising, and knocked a dish of sauce into Gwen's plate.

"Sorry," I said again to her, trying to wipe the sauce off the edge of her plate and – not having a rag and not wanting to stain my sleeve – ending up licking my fingers.

Arthur raised his voice. "Just go!"

"I've got it, Merlin, it's all right," Gwen assured me, her dark eyes amused but kind. I shrugged apologetically.

"And don't be late for that audience!" Arthur shouted after me as I closed the door.

I leaned against it for a moment, hearing through the wood my king's voice raised in exasperated complaint and the queen replying soothingly.

My pulse was racing – fear, anticipation, dread – he could holler at me all day every day of his life, the more the better, actually. I'd rather have him heap abuse, sarcasm, ridicule, insults on me than to tell me a thank-you that was also good-bye. I knew it might all change in a few hours, and I wanted to keep them as normal as possible as long as possible, but it was hard with all the conflicting emotion wanting to spill out haphazardly.

What was I to do if he never wanted to speak to me or see me again?

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It took me the better part of the next hour to get everyone to the audience chamber. I hated to do it, to add to the lies, but I told the knights – Leon, Gwaine, and Percival, that Arthur had requested them. For my sake, they might have come, had I managed to convince them it was necessary, more important than the tasks that already occupied them, without telling them why. The half-dozen council members and handful of other knights were under the impression that Arthur had changed the scheduled meeting time for that morning, moving it forward by an hour.

He would be angry, maybe, that I hadn't left him the sole responsibility of choosing what to do with me. _I'm not sure what I would've done_… He would not have to decide whether to turn me in officially, or not. This was me doing that myself.

I stood by one of the columns, in a shadow, as men filed into the room. I looked at each, as they greeted me enthusiastically like Gwaine, nodded cordially like Leon, or merely overlooked me like most of the council. It was a frightening, fascinating thought that they might never look at me the same again, any of them.

"What's it about, mate?" Gwaine asked, pausing beside me.

"A sorcerer," I said.

He looked at me, his eyebrows raised. "The one from Camlann? He's coming _here_?" he said surprised.

_He is already here_, I didn't say.

"Don't look so scared, Merlin," Gwaine teased. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything to you." It was hard to give Gwaine a smile, but I managed.

"Well," Arthur remarked to no one in particular, when he sauntered in, Gwen on his arm – right arm, I noticed. "I didn't know it was going to be a _public_ audience."

"A public audience?" one of the council said.

"Merlin told us you requested our presence," Leon added.

Another of the councilmen said, "A change of meeting time, your manservant claimed."

"My manservant," Arthur said, and glanced around. I stepped out of the shadow of the column. I could swear that my heartbeat was _audible_ at this point. "Care to explain, _Mer_lin?" the king asked.

"The servant who requested the audience," I said, clearly so everyone could hear me, "was me, sire."

"You?" he said, incredulous. Gwen gave me a look halfway between worried and curious. "Merlin, don't be ridiculous, if you have something to say to me, you have every opportunity all day long. Now –" he began to turn away.

"Arthur!" I blurted. My chance was slipping from me. Along with my nerve. "Please, this is important. For once, forget it's me, your stupid, clumsy, idiot servant, and give me the same respect you'd give any of your subjects requesting an audience. _Please_."

He looked at me for a long moment as if he hadn't really seen me in a long time. Then he nodded once – _respectfully_, oh I would cling to that memory through whatever might come – and led Gwen to the pair of thrones at the head of the room. The rest drifted after them, taking places at either side of the room. I noticed that Gaius had arrived some time after the king, but I tried not to look at him. I stood alone in the center of the room, maybe twelve feet from my king.

He was slouched a little to his right and his skin had lost a little of the tan caused by sun and wind during his days of convalescence. "Well?" he said. There was still a note of sarcasm, as though, because it was _me_, he couldn't quite take the proceedings with absolute seriousness. But he was not stretched on the ground, hiding from enemies and renegades, wincing with every tiny movement, whimpering, white and clammy and unable even to lift his head without help.

"You said it was about reporting a crime?" Arthur added. I could tell he wasn't pleased with me, assuming, maybe, that I was giving him information on someone else, and believed I should have chosen to do so without fifteen other people in the room.

"Yes," I said, and cleared my throat.

"Well, then, who?"

"Me."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Someone – I could swear it was Gwaine, somewhere behind me to my left - snorted. "Merlin, if you've inadvertently stolen something, or –"

"I've broken the laws of Camelot," I swallowed, "for ten years, since my arrival. One law, in particular." Gwen sat forward, reaching to take Arthur's hand.

"All right," Arthur said with exaggerated patience. "What law have you discovered yourself somehow in violation of?"

"The ban on magic."

You could have heard a pin drop. Gwen winced. Arthur's expression of mocking tolerance froze, then slipped. It was a little hard to breathe.

I added, "I'm a sorcerer."

Arthur's eyes slid past me, and I would have bet gold on Gaius being the man he looked to. For denial, or for… confirmation. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," he said. "This is –"

"Stupid, I know," I said desperately. "But it's true. I have magic. And I use it for-"

"You're not a sorcerer – I would know," Arthur protested, interrupting. "We've been through this before."

I remembered – more than once I'd stood before Uther accused of the crime of sorcery, and more than once I'd been set free on a small detail – Gaius was a goblin, Aredian planted evidence, I'd fallen in love with Gwen. I wondered, if I gave him too much time, whether he would come up with an excuse for me again and bundle me out of the room.

"Yes, I realize that," I said. I could turn and leave, blame my words on a random head injury, a confusion over the sorcerer I'd apparently gone to for help for the battle – hell, I could even claim he'd enchanted me. Then truly I would be a coward. "Arthur," I said, quietly. _I'm so, so sorry_. I took three steps closer, and raised my cupped hands to my mouth.

There was a look in his eyes – startled, stunned, a tiny hint of a horror that would grow.

I said, "_Forbearnan_." I said it loudly enough that everyone would hear, but calmly. Then I held my hand out, my palm flat as the tiny flame hovered and danced. It felt like my hand would be shaking like a leaf, and I was surprised to see that my fingers didn't so much as tremble.

There was a brief rush of movement – men in the room trying to push forward to see, or trying to retreat out of harm's way, I didn't know. Someone swore. Gwen's eyes lighted for a second, then she looked anxiously at Arthur.

I held the flame as long as Arthur's eyes remained on it, which was exactly seven heartbeats.

Then he raised his eyes to mine. There was no wary disbelief, no strange fear of me. I knew him, knew he was fighting to hold that blank mask in place, but for once I couldn't see what was behind it. Anger? Disgust? Betrayal? Maybe it was because I didn't want to know.

"My lord?" said one of the council members. I let my hand fall. "Sire, a confessed criminal. _A sorcerer in Camelot_."

Gwaine growled something, and Leon spoke to him, and suddenly the silence of the chamber was fractured by everyone talking – yelling, accusing, questioning – at once. There was panic, I could feel it, an edge of violence brought on by fear.

I didn't look away from Arthur, and he didn't look away. His eyes had narrowed infinitesimally. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

He stood, slowly, by degrees, using his good right arm to push himself to the edge of the throne, then leaning forward before straightening his legs to draw himself up to his full height. "You know, don't you," he said to me, softly, but one by one the others fell silent, aware that their king was speaking. To a sorcerer. "You know you left me no choice."

I nodded. Yes, I knew. Yes, I had planned for that. He did not have to choose whether to follow his own law or not.

Arthur remained motionless for a moment, not quite facing me, turned a little toward Gwen. She rose also, her face full of sympathy for, I saw, both of us. "Do that again," he ordered abruptly. "Do _that_ –" he flipped his fingers, his eyes on my hand at my side – "again."

I considered. The flame might be considered a trick. Flowers or butterflies might be explained as having been up my sleeves. I held out my hand again, and spoke clearly, "_Fromum feohgiftum, hine on ylde eft_." A small blue orb appeared, milky clouds swirling in its depth.

Without looking away from the small globe that floated an inch above my hand, Arthur said, "Leon." Then he closed his eyes, deliberately shutting out the sight of my magic. Arthur said, "This man has confessed to a crime against the laws of Camelot. Take him to the cells."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. _This man_. I was aware of Leon at my side, reaching to my upper arm but not touching me. Gwen's expression held pained indecision. Arthur remained remote.

I turned, avoiding Leon's eyes. I knew where the cells were – this was something I had expected. At the very least, until a trial, or – maybe they didn't hold a trial if the law-breaker confessed, just skipped straight to sentencing? I locked my gaze on the closed doors at the far end of the room as I walked, feeling unsteady. I didn't want to see any more, anyone else. My heart was full of Arthur.

As I scrubbed the heels of my hands swiftly over my eyes, I heard one of the council members say, presumably to Arthur, "But – a sorcerer? How do we know the cells will hold him?"

"You heard him," Arthur said stonily. I resisted the urge to turn and look at him. "Ten years. Escape is not his intention."

The councilman said, "Then – what is?"

I sensed Leon glance at me, but I kept my eyes focused ahead.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was the same cell where I had been thrown the night Arthur was poisoned by Gwen under Morgana's influence. Little straw on the floor, canvas cot that was too short for me. I allowed myself a little smile, remembering – I hadn't minded waking in the cell, hearing Gwaine say, the king would like to speak with you.

As long as the king was in a condition to speak to me, I was happy. What he would say was of secondary importance.

Leon closed the door behind me, turned the key in the lock with an offensive squeak, but didn't immediately leave. "Merlin," he said after a moment. "_Why_?"

I didn't turn around. I didn't want to see him take an involuntary step away from me. What he was asking was the same question, essentially, that I'd asked Gaius – and Kilgarrah – my first week in this kingdom that had hated my kind so long. The answer, I'd learned over time, was not as complicated as I'd once thought. No, it had become incredibly simple. "To protect Arthur," I said.

He made a sound of sudden comprehension. "How many times?"

"I can't even remember," I said tiredly.

Then, of all possible reactions I could have expected from _this_ knight, he gave the most surprising one of all. Leon laughed. "I suppose I would have broken the law to protect Arthur, also, if it had been necessary," he said. I turned then, and he didn't step back. "Do you need anything?" he asked me.

"Writing materials?" I asked. "Ink and paper – and plenty of it."

He nodded, then glanced back toward the guards' station at the foot of the stairs. "I hear Gwaine coming," he said, by way of taking leave.

By leaning into the bars, I could see down the walkway between the cells. I saw Gwaine step further out of Leon's way than he had to, giving the senior knight a look of wary mistrust. Leon spoke to him, but I couldn't hear what he said.

Gwaine looked at me a moment before nodding to Leon, accepting something from his hand, and coming to the door of the cell. I stepped back as Gwaine unlocked the door with the key Leon had given him and entered. He closed it again behind him with the same shrill squeal, leaving the key in the lock on the outside.

Then he faced me and, next to Arthur, his was the reaction that I feared the most. Gwaine was unpredictable, that way. He could laugh and tell me he'd known it all along, or he could punch me in the face and call me a disloyal hypocrite.

Gwaine said, "You all right, mate?" I stared at him, and the smallest twitch of a grin showed before he added, "You must be feverish, to have pulled a stunt like that. What were you thinking – a public confession?"

I seated myself on the foot of the cot, leaning against the stone wall and bracing my heels against the edge of the cot. Gwaine mirrored my actions at the head of the bed.

"I've done magic my whole life," I told him, and it felt incredible to say. The story poured out of me – my mother's worry, the letter to Gaius, arriving in Camelot. The beheading in the square, presided over by Uther. Instinctively saving Gaius – then doing the same for Arthur.

"And you've been doing it ever since," Gwaine said. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Mate, a secret like that… I can't even begin to imagine. The burden, the responsibility… I wish I'd known."

I was so grateful that he hadn't said_, I wish you'd told me_. "Do you?" I asked. "I mean, honestly, would you rather be told a truth that hurts, or live a lie in happiness?" I wondered if Eira had left Camelot yet, and what she had said to him.

Gwaine opened his mouth to answer, then stopped to reconsider and looked at me. "That was your choice, then," he said. "To tell Arthur a truth that would hurt him, or let him continue oblivious to the lie."

"Not really," I said. "You remember, six months ago, the sorcerer Osric and the rune mark he gave Arthur?"

"The Disir," he said, nodding. "They threatened the end of Arthur's reign and the fall of Camelot itself." He gave me a roguish grin. "Looks like they were wrong, eh?"

"When Arthur and I went back to ask for Mordred's life –" I noticed his hands tightening into fists, and couldn't blame him. Arthur was not the only one the druid boy betrayed. "They told me, they would delay the judgment on Arthur if I told him about my magic."

"You did a rather spectacular job of it," Gwaine said, elbowing me. "So you told him to save his life?"

"More or less," I sighed.

"Otherwise?"

"I don't know," I said miserably, dropping my head to my hands to rub my skull. "The law is the law, Gwaine. I could've told him if it had been changed, I suppose, but… while Uther was alive? while Morgana was still somewhere plotting? I couldn't ask Arthur to lie for me, to allow one person to break the law – and I couldn't risk being sent away from him. Not when the purpose of my life is the protection of his!"

After a moment, Gwaine cleared his throat deliberately. "So this is you giving your life to make sure he keeps his?" he asked neutrally. "Sorcery's still punishable by death, Merlin."

"I know," I said, pressing on my closed eyes with the heels of my hands.

"I won't see that happen," Gwaine warned me. "We'll get you out of here, it can't be that hard, then you and I can ride for –"

"No," I interrupted. "Arthur won't – I'm pretty sure he won't execute me. But _banishment_…" Would it be a possibility for me to stay in Camelot, in hiding, in disguise, just to be near him, just in case?

Gwaine chuckled. "Isn't all bad, my friend. These other kingdoms have some decent taverns, after all. There's one I could show you that –"

"No, Gwaine," I said again. "You swore an oath. You're a knight of Camelot, now."

"Not if I get myself banished again," he said obstinately, grinning.

I couldn't help smiling back. "I can take care of myself," I told him. "But if I'm not here, you need to be, to… look after him. For me."

He scowled. "You have to let me know where you end up," he said. "I'll visit. We'll get drunk –"

"I was informed by Sir Leon," Gaius' voice said sternly, and Gwaine and I both straightened, putting our feet down on the floor of the cell like a pair of naughty children caught in a misdeed. My mentor's raised eyebrow was intimidating in the torchlight of the hall. "That you had requested writing materials, Merlin, but if you're otherwise occupied, _chatting_, don't let me interrupt."

"No, please," I said, jumping up from the cot and reaching through the bars for the sealed bottle of ink and the rolled paper, quill tucked inside. "Was he angry with you?" I asked.

Gwaine let himself out of the cell. "I'm highly surprised at you, Gaius," he remarked mischievously. "Harboring a sorcerer under Uther's nose – teaching him and encouraging him –"

"Well, someone had to do it, to make sure he didn't get himself killed," Gaius snapped. "And no, Merlin, Arthur didn't even seem surprised."

"He's not going to," I hesitated, "_do_ anything to you, is he?"

"No, he won't," Gaius said. "Though he was highly resistant when I suggested he should hear at least _my_ testimony before he pronounces sentencing."

"I'll talk to him," Gwaine said, and it sounded like a threat.

"Gwaine, please," I said, reaching after him through the bars. "Please, don't make it harder for him. He shouldn't have to worry about what you'll do –"

"I promise not to do anything," he said, and I didn't quite believe him.

Gaius squeezed my arm. "Don't worry, my boy," he said. "We'll get through this, we always do. Send for me if you need anything."

Gwaine grinned at me, walking backwards toward the stairs. "I'll come back when they bring you dinner," he said, tipping an imaginary cup to his lips. "Keep your head up, mate, it'll turn out right."

"Just take care of Arthur," I said. "That's all I ask."

Gaius nodded, and as the two unlikely companions left, I heard Gwaine said to the old physician, "Merlin seems quite convinced he's going to be banished. I was telling him there was definite possibilities –"

"We all know what trouble you could get into with those possibilities," Gaius grumbled.

I hoped, sincerely hoped, that there were as many friends or more to speak to Arthur, to comfort and encourage him. Not that I wanted to be excused or explained, but – it was usually _me_, talking him through times like these. Ye gods, how I hated to be the cause of it, this time. _I'm sorry, Arthur_.

But sorry wasn't good enough.

I sat down on the stone floor, brushing away the straw to clear a writing surface, then pulled the wax stopper from the ink bottle, dipped my quill and began to write.

Some time later, I was shaking a cramp from my hand when the torchlight was blocked momentarily by an enormous shadow, and I squinted up at Percival. He tossed a folded blanket through the bars, onto the cot. "It can get a little cold down here," he commented.

"Thank you," I said, and scrambled up to stretch out the kinks in my muscles and joints from sitting cross-legged and hunched over for so long.

He nodded, watching me silently for a moment, then I came to lean on the bars next to him. "Merlin," he said finally, "I haven't known you as long as Arthur or Leon, or as well as Gwaine, so maybe I… just look at things differently. But I get the feeling… we all owe you a rather large debt."

"No, Percival," I protested. "You owe me nothing. We all serve the king – you in your way, and me in mine."

He nodded, accepting. "It's quite a whirlwind, up there," he told me, and I gathered he referred to the council chamber. "You can imagine." Yeah, I could – another thing I was sorry for, leaving Arthur to deal with the council.

"Calling for my blood, are they?" I tried to joke.

He didn't crack a smile. "You follow Arthur," he said. "Everywhere, every time... his enemies are your enemies, too, aren't they." I nodded. "Most of us can see that, I think," he added. "The question is, what's to be done with a sorcerer who isn't an enemy." He pushed away from the bars of the cell and turned to go.

"Most of us aren't," I said swiftly, and he glanced back at me curiously. "Like the druids. Most of us just want to live our lives in peace. Without fear."

That made Percival smile his sudden little-boy's smile. "If it was peace you were after, why did you stay in Camelot?"

I grinned back at him. "Same reason you did."

He nodded in comprehension, and we both said at the same time, "Arthur."

"Don't lose hope," he told me as he left.

_He will accept you. Or he will not_. I shivered, and pulled the blanket around my shoulders as I resumed my seat on the floor before the parchment and ink. There was so much to be written. If Arthur kept me here for a week I might not be done, but I knew I had to try. It was the best I could do for him.

It was hours later, I realized, when another visitor provided a welcome interruption. "Aren't you going to eat?" Gwen's voice said, and I scrambled up, clumsy and stiff.

"My lady," I said, and realized there was indeed, a tray on the floor by her feet that had been brought to me. Noon had come and gone, evidently.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, shaking her head at me. "How many times do I have to tell you? There is no need for you to call me that."

I came close to the bars. "How is he?" I asked quietly. I had to know.

She lowered her eyes. "Merlin, you saw him after he found out about Morgana, about Agravaine," she said. I remembered, and it twisted my heart. "They were in the council room all morning. He hardly said a word, I don't know whether he heard half of what the others said."

"Should I have told him – differently?" I asked. "I thought, if they could see how surprised he was, they never would accuse him of knowingly harboring a criminal, they never could claim I'd enchanted him –" The look on her face stopped me. "Gwen – someone said it, didn't they? That I'd cast a spell –"

"Well," Gwen said, in the deliberate earnest way she had when she was trying to set her feelings aside and be fair, "some of them are quite humiliated, angry even, that no one guessed, about you, after all this time."

No one more so than Arthur, I supposed. I hadn't really thought about that, how embarrassing it would be for him to have everyone realize that someone like me could manage to deceive him for so long.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," I said, reaching through the bars. She allowed me to touch her hand, and didn't draw back. "I'm so, so –"

"No, Merlin," she said, putting her hand over mine though hers was smaller. "You don't owe an explanation – not to me. You've always been there at Arthur's side, you've always brought him home. I have seen all you've done for him. And though I somehow missed the magic until now –" she gave me a self-deprecating smile – "I saw all the rest. You worked hard for him, when you didn't have to. You cheered him, you encouraged him. You believed in him. You were his friend, Merlin. Thank you. For everything. For what nobody saw, or ever appreciated before. Thank you."

I laughed and it felt shaky. "He is a great king, Gwen – that's all the thanks I'll ever need."

She smiled. "It may be a long time," she said, "before any of us understand you." A thoughtful look came over her face, and she cocked her head. "The sorcerer at Camlann," she said. "I asked Gaius if he knew him, and he said, someone truly remarkable… he deserves our gratitude… That was _you_?"

I sighed. "That was me, as I'll be when I'm eighty."

Gwen bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Then you – you saved his life. Thank you. Again, thank you."

I remembered how her face had looked when Leon told her in the tent, _We'll keep looking_. I remembered her watching the train of men arriving from her window – _He must be somewhere_. I remembered her crying, insisting, _He is alive, I know it, I can feel it_. I remembered her handling the seal, delaying one moment longer, before Leon proclaimed, _The king is dead_…

I said, "Just – make sure he's all right?"

The smile she gave me was radiant in comparison to my memories.

Worth it. Whatever my punishment, it was worth it.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Day in Crystal**

It was near impossible to tell time in the cells, but dinner – and Gwaine – had been and gone hours ago. He'd been a little louder than usual, had drunk a little more, but otherwise had not mentioned the girl with blonde hair. I guessed that his hurt would heal with a little more time.

Not quite midnight, but close, I thought, surprised when voices came toward the cell, accompanied by the jangling of keys. "His Majesty's orders," one of the guards informed another. "We're to bring the sorcerer."

I stood, feeling the pinprick sensation of constricted blood flowing freely again, and tossed the blanket onto the cot. As they unlocked the cell door, I bundled up the pages I'd written and replaced the wax stopper in the ink bottle.

"D'you want the shackles?" the third guard asked.

The one with the key paused. "King Arthur didn't say to use 'em," he said.

"But – a sorcerer?" his companion said dubiously. They all looked at me.

"I reckon," said the one with the keys slowly, "if he wanted out, he'd have already done it. And if he meant the king harm…" He shrugged. "He'd have already done it."

"Come on, then," his companion told me, and I followed, up the stairs from the cell, along the corridors. The two guards escorted me to the council room, where one announced, "The sorcerer, sire," before shutting the door behind me.

Arthur was seated at the table, not in his place at the head, but halfway down one side, with his back mostly to the door and his face illumined by the low-burning fire in the fireplace opposite. He was slouched in the high-backed chair, his head propped in one hand while his fingers slowly massaged his temples.

I waited. It was an exquisite torture, wanting to offer comfort and support and a listening ear for his troubles, knowing that I'd been the cause and could therefore offer nothing that wouldn't increase the hurt of betrayal. And I deserved every minute.

"Merlin," he said finally, without lifting his head.

"Sire," I responded. I couldn't help hoping. It wasn't _that man_. It wasn't _leave me… just… you heard. _

He pointed to the chair opposite him, and I hurried to obey, setting my writing down on the table in front of me, leaning over the edge of it, clasping my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.

"So, Merlin," he said, his voice and face expressionless, his eyes dark with fatigue. "You have magic."

"Yes, I –"

"Please don't speak." His tone didn't change. "Gaius has explained to me the – exclusivity, of your magic. You did not choose to begin using magic, nor can you choose to stop. He has – tried, to explain your reasons for remaining in Camelot. Whose laws you break, it seems, by your very existence."

His left hand in his lap, Arthur laid his right atop his stack of parchment, flipping the edges with his thumb. I recognized his writing, even upside down, and knew it was his notes from the day's meetings, summaries of the arguments each councilman or knight had offered. We'd gone over similar notes together on similar late nights, as I finished polishing armor or folding and storing clean laundry or brushing boots, he'd repeat what had been said, clarifying his understanding, sometimes scoffing at my impressions or just taking in what I said silently.

Once again, it seemed he'd summoned me at the end of the day to discuss the issue at hand. Me. Or – magic.

"I trusted you," he said slowly. "And you've lied to me all this time."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I'm sorry too. I understand why you didn't tell me, but…" He snorted. "Seems you can keep a secret to save your life, after all."

"Not my life," I said, and he was startled into meeting my eyes. "I wasn't concerned about saving my life. I was worried about what would happen to you. If I was found out… I wouldn't be around to protect you, anymore."

He shifted in his chair, lifting his chin slightly as he studied me. "Leon told me, he remembers when the ban on magic was enacted, when he was a child. Gaius and Geoffrey, of course, as well as every councilman, remember the time before the start of the Purge. Gwaine and Percival have both told me of conditions in other kingdoms where they've traveled, and magic is allowed under regulation of the law."

I remembered another such discussion on the question of magic, what he'd been raised to believe. _If I do that_, he'd said to me, six months ago, speaking of bringing magic back to Camelot, _all my father's work will be for nothing. Sorcery will reign once more in Camelot._

Not reign, but _live_. "We have had this conversation also, you and I," I said softly. _Perhaps my father was wrong, perhaps the old ways aren't as evil as I thought_. "A just and fair kingdom doesn't mean unfettered sorcery and superstition –"

"I had a conversation," he said deliberately, "with someone who was a - trusted friend, with an unbiased opinion. Or so I thought."

_I tried_, I thought numbly. _I'd said, do what is in your heart, what you believe, what is right and best for Camelot_.

"This morning," Arthur said deliberately, "You said_, I am a sorcerer_." His eyes had never been sharper. And there would be no blurting some crazy excuse about herbs or taverns and skipping from the room. "You didn't say, I am _the_ sorcerer."

"_The_ sorcerer," I said.

He rose and rounded the table, pushing aside the chair next to mine to seat himself on the table. He put his right hand on the back of my chair and leaned toward me until our faces were less than a foot apart. I couldn't look away from that keen blue gaze – it felt like he was studying my very soul.

"You are the same," he said. "It was a disguise."

"Yes," I said.

He straightened but kept his seat on the table. "Why?" he demanded.

"I was just – trying to help," I said. "When your father accused Gwen of witchcraft – sire, we both knew it wasn't true, but your father wouldn't believe you and he – he _never_ believed me so I – created a scapegoat. I figured no one would recognize me eighty years old and –"

"You figured!" he exclaimed. "Sorcerers are executed in Camelot, Merlin! We almost burned you at the stake!"

"I remember," I said softly.

"The enchanted amulet," he said. "That was the truth." I nodded. "And you were at Camlann as well."

"Better late than never," I said.

"You let me believe –" he stopped. "That last night, I called you coward because you weren't going to Camlann. You _made me believe_ you weren't going to Camlann, so you could have Gwaine take you out somewhere to sneak into your disguise and show up and save the day – up there on that cliff throwing lightning so all could see you – coming for me when I was wounded – healing me, saving my life – and this morning, the perfect opportunity for you to claim credit, to place this whole kingdom in your debt, and instead you let Leon walk you to the cells! I can't tell whether you truly are a coward, or the bravest man I know. I can't figure whether you're too clever for all of us or incredibly stupid."

I couldn't help a smile, but I tried to keep it a small one. "It's probably both," I said. "Or all? Sometimes I'm not sure, myself."

"So I'd like an explanation," he said. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I… had some time on my hands today," I said. "I've written… these."

He glanced down at the scribbled, ink-smeared pages. "What are they?" he said. "They look a mess."

"This packet is a list of every time I've done magic, since I came to Camelot," I said. "As much as I could remember, and if you want me to rewrite it so its chronological, I can try but I just set it down as I remembered and –"

"The other?" he said.

"The second is a list of all the lies I've ever told you," I said.

For a moment he said nothing, just looked at me. "As many as you could remember," he said finally, in a voice low but steady, "and not necessarily in chronological order?"

I nodded, doing my best to keep my breathing steady, catching a traitor tear swiftly, hoping he wouldn't see.

"Your hearing will be first thing in the morning," Arthur said. "Percival told me he brought you a blanket, and you've had your meals." He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded again, pushing back my chair and standing, ready to be taken back to my cell for the night. "Two questions," Arthur added. "Morgana."

He'd seen me kill his sister with a bolt of lightning – well, near enough, I'd heard Percival and Gwaine had found her dead on the battlefield. I blurted, "I'm sorry –"

He acted like he hadn't heard me. "She called you Emrys," he said. "And then I remembered something. Years ago – and not very far from this room – she said, _not even Emrys can save you now_."

"The druids –" I started, but he held up one hand for my silence. Mostly I had ignored that wish in the past, but those times, I recognized, might be long gone. Such liberties might never be mine to take again.

"My question is this," he said, more slowly. "You stayed. You worked. You hid your magic, you lied, you – saved my life. And _listened_. Did you do this because you were waiting, hoping that I would someday change the laws on magic?"

"Well, not –"

"Did you," he went on, "deliberately befriend me, as the crown prince to the throne, seeing some weakness, seeing that I could never be the kind of king my father was?"

"If compassion and wisdom are weakness, I would to God all men had it as you do!" I said. "I hope and pray you are _never_ the kind of king your father was! Yes, I hoped that one day you would see that magic could be useful and good, but I am not just some manipulative sorcerer with my own goals to achieve. This – all this I've ever done – everything for you, Arthur. My magic is for you, my work, my strength, my patience, my _heart_ – is _all_ for you. I do this because you're my friend, and I –" _I never want to lose you_. Stupid tears. I wiped my face angrily and muttered, "Hell, this was easier when you were dying."

He was looking at me strangely. "When was I dying?"

"You weren't," I said, trying to laugh it off. "It was just something I saw."

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me the truth," he demanded.

"The truth." I sighed. "The truth is, that it's my fault. I was told Mordred was a danger, but he was a child and you were determined to help him. I was told Morgana was a danger, only you loved her like a sister – and then she really _was_ your sister. I was told you would fall at Camlann, but I knew you would never agree not to go."

"Breathe, Merlin," Arthur said, with a mix of consternation and amusement.

"I was told to reveal myself to you, to assume my identity and tell you my name, and because I did not, my magic was taken from me and I needed Gwaine to make sure I reached the crystal cave without getting killed by bandits while I was helpless and Morgana was there and trapped me so I was late getting to Camlann –"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur said.

"But it wasn't entirely terrible because I looked at the future in the crystals and saw Mordred wound you mortally and I had to take you two days to Avalon just the two of us on horseback with enemy Saxons all around and I told you about my magic and you wanted to send me away but I had to save you, I had to try and I had to use magic to light the fire, and to hide our tracks and to kill the Saxons that found us and then –" I stopped, I was breathing much too fast and more _tears_, dammit.

"And then," Arthur prompted gently.

I rubbed my sleeve across my face. "And then I was too late anyway," I said bitterly. "Too late to stop Mordred, to late to tell you of my magic, too late to save you. You died in my arms on the shore of the lake."

He stared at me. "You saw that future in a crystal in a cave?" he said incredulously. I nodded. "And then, what? You changed my fate?"

"I don't know," I said, raising my hand to point at the resting place of the shard in his shoulder. "I don't know, yet. You have a destiny, and I have a destiny, and -"

"There's a difference between fate and destiny," he said, repeating words I'd spoken when the two of us traveled to Breneved, as if he hadn't understood until now.

"Some men are born to plow fields," I said, smiling. "Some live to be great physicians, others - to be great kings. I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that."

"You are?" he said narrowly. "My second question, Merlin, was to ask you to explain why, if you were disguised as a powerful sorcerer who could evade capture and disappear at will, why – out of _anything at all_ you could possibly do within Camelot or to any of the citizens – why you chose to _ride_ _your prince like a mule_."

I stared at him, my mouth probably dropped open. Out of everything he could possibly have asked me… I caught a devilish glint in his eye, and snapped without thinking, "Well, now you know how it feels to be worked like a mule – day in and day out it's Merlin do this and Merlin do that and wash my socks and polish my armor and sharpen my sword and finish the laundry and scrub the floor and muck the stable and have the horses ready by first light –"

He was laughing at me outright now, and I tripped over my chair, forgotten behind me, as I turned to storm grandly out.

"Excuse me, sire," I said stiffly. "My cell awaits."

"So it does," he agreed. "And Merlin – tomorrow morning –"

I sighed. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

He said blandly, "Don't be late." I stared at him a moment disbelieving, til he flicked his fingers at me in a dismissive gesture.

Something made me turn back, just as I reached to pull the door open. Arthur stood before the fireplace, the flickering shadows making his expression stern and sad. In either hand he held a sheaf of my papers. He glanced from one to the other, then back again. And then, to my surprise, he threw one packet into the fire.

I slipped out the door, and as the two guards escorted me back to the cell, I couldn't help but wonder, which had he chosen to destroy without ever reading, the magic – or the lies?

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the morning, it was Gwaine who came to escort me from the cells. "The king would like to have a word with you," he said, and gave me an ironic smile.

Maybe he remembered the last time I'd been in this cell, too.

"It isn't too late," he said, as we walked the corridors and stairs. I noticed he was taking me to the throne room. I noticed also that we passed far fewer people than was normal for the time of day. "You and me, we take a wrong turn on this little stroll, end up at the stables, grab a mount –"

"You really think Arthur will order my execution?" I said.

"Honestly, Merlin?" Gwaine's smile disappeared. "We can't tell what he's thinking, or what he means to do."

My heart dropped and my hands felt cold. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely helpless. If Arthur rejected me, rejected magic, he would, as the Disir warned, seal his doom. Arthur's bane… was Arthur himself. Our fates, as our destinies, were intertwined.

At Gwaine's nod, the two guards at the double doors of the chamber opened them, swinging them inward. Ah. This was where everyone was, the crowd five times what it had been when I'd made my confession yesterday.

Whispers filled the air as we walked down the center of the room, and I avoided looking at anyone, as Gwaine left me to stand alone. I didn't want to see friendly encouragement nor cold curiosity nor more malignant spite. None of that mattered.

My attention was on Arthur. He looked pale and tired, leaning on his right elbow on the armrest of the throne, left hand limp in his lap. There were frown lines on his face and his gaze rested on the section of flooring just past his feet. Then another detail spoke to me – he was wearing formal clothing, complete with the red robe and crown of the king.

It was my sentencing, then.

Arthur let the murmuring continue for several moments, before he lifted his head. The physician in me wanted to leap forward, to touch his forehead, his wrist, check for fever or rapid heart-rate. But I couldn't. Not now, and maybe not ever.

"Some of you were present," Arthur began, and his voice caused a hush to fall, "yesterday morning when my servant Merlin confessed to the crime of sorcery, and demonstrated his guilt." He paused, as if the word tasted bitter. "The laws of Camelot are quite clear. There is, however, the question of which punishment his actions have earned."

He looked straight at me. "Sorcery, as of course everyone knows, carries the penalty of death. I have been told, the death of a sorcerer who has had access to the king is the only definitive means of proof that the king has not been enchanted." I tried to keep from flinching, but whatever he saw on my face, he looked away again. "In the past, a conviction of sorcery has resulted in a sentence of death by beheading, death by fire, by water." I tasted blood in my mouth. He had never looked or sounded more like Uther.

Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "In the past, people have been accused, convincted, and sentenced to death based upon the most casual of acquaintances with a sorcerer – any transaction of commerce, any act of hospitality, any favor or service accepted." There was an uneasy rustling throughout the chamber.

Arthur met my eyes again, and the hardness of Uther Pendragon was gone, leaving my own exhausted, conflicted Arthur. "Based on that," he said with a cold humor, "I would be hard-pressed to find a single citizen in Camelot who should not be prosecuted for association with the prisoner." Someone let out a hard laugh, it might have been Gwaine, or it might have been Percival.

"Another question has been raised," Arthur went on. "In cases where other laws have been broken – murder or theft for example – the motives of the one at fault are taken into account. Why, we have asked ourselves, is the same not true for crimes relating to sorcery?"

Arthur paused as if he were considering the question himself, which allowed – no, required – everyone else to do the same. It was done naturally, but it was effective. I was so proud, in that moment, of the king he'd become. Uther had never paused in his diatribes, had never encouraged his people to think or to question.

"The council has heard," Arthur continued, "testimony of a dozen citizens of good standing that speak to the question of the prisoner's motives. This number," he paused, and I knew from his expression that he was maintaining a solemn kingly countenance with an effort, "was limited due to the constraints of time allowed for the presentation of witnesses by the council."

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling as well, as hope blossomed inside. A dozen people had spoken for me – and more would have, given the opportunity.

"The findings are this: far from wishing destruction or harm to the people of Camelot or their property, far from the ill intent often demonstrated by sorcerers who have proclaimed and proven themselves enemies of this crown and this kingdom, the evidence overwhelmingly points to this man's sincere desire to guard and protect his king, his friends, his land and people, often at significant risk to himself."

I found myself clutching my hand in a fist over my heart. In our brightest moments together, I'd dared hope for his forgiveness, maybe even a glimmer of understanding or acceptance. But what Arthur was giving me was beyond even that. He was giving me _vindication_.

"However," Arthur said, and for the first time stood from his throne. Someone cleared his throat significantly to the side, and I thought I recognized Gwaine. Arthur ignored him. "However, the fact of the crime remains. Sorcery, like theft or murder, does not go unpunished, regardless of motivation, though it may influence the severity of the sentence."

He stepped closer to me, his eyes linked to mine. Not execution, then. Maybe – maybe – not banishment? My heart soared. Oh, to remain at his side, to be allowed to stay – anything, I would do willingly, gladly suffer.

He stopped when he was about six feet from me. "If this man," he said, glancing at someone to my left, "were placed in the stocks, with the crime of sorcery published, what would be the reaction of the people, do you suppose?"

Leon stepped forward. "Sire?" he said carefully.

"The people," Arthur repeated quietly. "Would they be glad to see a sorcerer punished? Would there be rocks thrown, or nothing?"

He was asking, would the people want sorcery punished more harshly than standing in the stocks, or would they be sympathetic and not make the punishment worse?

There was a smile in Leon's voice. "In the past, sire," he said, "they have favored rotten vegetables." It was neither one, nor the other. The people were willing to follow their ruler's leading.

"Six months ago," Arthur said. "I swore to review any laws that might be considered harsh or unfair, to re-evaluate what is considered evil. It is high time to fulfill that vow, and the council will begin deliberations tomorrow. Merlin." He looked me full in the face, and I straightened. "You have been found guilty of the crime of sorcery by your own admission. Taking into account extenuating circumstances and the testimony of these several witnesses, I hereby grant you a royal pardon for all your crimes."

For a moment there was dead silence. I understood the words _royal pardon_, but thought there must be something else, something more. For surely this situation always culminated in punishment for me, didn't it?

Tears were running down Gwen's face, but she beamed at me. Noise assaulted from every side, cheers and protests, both. My back was thumped, my hand was shaken. I was pretty sure at one point that Gwaine leaped right off the ground.

I couldn't take my eyes off Arthur. His words, I thought dimly, hadn't really sunken in, yet. He came very close and said to me softly, "You understand, Merlin, that things can never be the same."

I nodded. Yes, I'd known that for years, it was one of the things that had held me back – and I was not to escape punishment entirely, it seemed.

"You are not a helpless, blindly loyal, idiot of a manservant," Arthur continued. "You never were."

"I'm still the same person," I protested.

"No," he said. "No, you're not." A smile pulled sideways at his mouth. "There are parts of you that I know – that you trip because you're in a hurry and your feet are big, that you spill things and knock things over because you're clumsy. You've got –" he paused and gave me a mocking look – "ink on your face right now, because you don't pay attention. But there's a big part of your life that you hid from me, Merlin. An _illegal_ part of your life. This, whatever this relationship was that we had –"

"Relationship?" I said softly, hopefully.

He made a move like he'd instinctively reached to smack the back of my head, but pulled back. I understood. That easy good-natured abuse – that would change. He wouldn't know quite how to treat me, might even worry about offending a powerful sorcerer.

It would take time. It wasn't that there would be nothing between us, or that it would remain troubled or awkward, just – different.

Then a look of pain shot through his eyes and all color vanished from his skin and I caught him as he tipped forward, both of us collapsing to our knees.

"Arthur?" Gwen said anxiously, kneeling beside us in a billow of purple silk, the three of us suddenly the center of a confusion of noise and attention.

"Your shoulder?" I said. His head lolled on my shoulder, and I spread my fingers gently over his wound, whispering the words of the spell.

"Merlin?" I heard Gaius say, as I healed the bruising and inflammation caused by the presence of the shard, then helped Arthur shuffle to a more comfortable position.

Somewhere above us, Gwaine raised his voice to someone else, "No he did _not_ attack the king!"

Leon said, "There is no need to worry. King Arthur is still feeling the effects of the wound he received at Camlann – everyone please leave the room and let his physician attend him."

I tried another spell, this one to alleviate fever and pain.

"You idiot," Arthur whispered to me. "Magic is – still illegal."

"Well," I said, making an attempt to be saucy in spite of my concern, "_pardon me_."

He stared at me a moment before beginning to laugh.

…..*….. …..*….. Six Months Later …..*….. …..*…..

"Perhaps we could take a rest soon, sire," I gasped, rolling my shoulder under the weight of the wooden practice shield.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur ordered, and swung the sword one more time – slowly, deliberately, one-handed, keeping the elbow of his left arm tucked tightly to his side.

"I'm trying to think of you, sire," I objected. "You look like you could do with a rest."

He glared at me, but let the weapon fall to his side, turning to study the knights on the rest of the training field, the others sweating and grunting as they gave their full energy and attention to their sparring partners. I dropped the shield – thankfully – and came to examine his shoulder.

"Gaius said it would take time," I said, and wordlessly healed a slight tearing of muscle tissue our sedate exercise had caused.

"Six months, Merlin," Arthur growled. "I still haven't got half the use of it back. What the hell am I supposed to do if the Saxons attack again – as they almost certainly will?"

"Your father was troubled by his old war wounds to the end of his life," I said neutrally. "You will do as he did, sire, you will direct and order – and let others lead the fighting."

His jaw clenched and his grip on his sword-hilt tightened. "I cannot always stand aside in safety and watch while my men fight and die in my place."

"I know that," I said. My Arthur was a lion, a warrior. Someday, that shard would break loose and begin once again the journey towards Arthur's heart that would kill him – Mordred's destiny, after all, had been to play a role in Arthur's death. My job, as his physician and his sorcerer – his friend – would be to make sure that day was far distant. Decades, I was determined, when both of us were ridiculously old. "That is why my place is on your left." I gave a grin to his look of incomprehension.

"You can't mean you would go into battle with me," he said.

"You can't mean you would go into battle without me," I mimicked his tone and his frown. "I'll be your shield, Arthur – no one will get near your left without going through me." That was my destiny, after all.

He grunted, eyeing me up and down. "Well," he said. "You better use magic, then, because you're rubbish with the actual shield."

**A/N: This was harder to get from my head to the page than I originally envisioned. But hopefully it's coherent, and insightful, and maybe, even – entertaining? **

**Here you have how I thought it should have happened – prophecy fulfilled in that Arthur 'fell' at Camlann, and Mordred still accomplished Arthur's death… eventually. And Arthur and Merlin are all set to accomplish Albion's golden age and the return of magic…**


End file.
